


Death and Diamonds

by julia_rowena



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:15:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 35,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21886525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julia_rowena/pseuds/julia_rowena
Summary: I have been desperate for a new Miss Fisher case for almost three years now. Well, that's what has become of my 'desperation' - a whole new murder case. This fanfic is meant with respect for the show and characters.My story is set shortly after the episode 'Game, Set & Murder'. However, strictly speaking, there's an overlap with the last episode of series 3, which actually takes place from 3 September to 6 September (according to the 'Science Prize Award Night' Flyer in 'Death do us part'). Please forgive this inconsistency 😉I hope you'll enjoy the latest adventure of our beloved Miss Phryne Fisher, 'lady detective' and her fellow sleuths!
Relationships: Hugh Collins/Dorothy "Dot" Williams, Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson
Comments: 37
Kudos: 68





	1. To See And To Be Seen

Phryne Fisher hadn't gone out partying for a long time. However, one morning after breakfast Mr Butler came into the parlour and handed her an invitation to a charity ball hosted by her aunt, Prudence Stanley, at the end of the week. It was scheduled to take place at the _Riverside Hotel –_ one of the poshest hotels in town, overlooking the Yarra – on 8 September 1929. After a long telephone conversation with her aunt, asking about the underlying objective of that toffee-nosed gathering she had eventually accepted the invitation.

Not only did Phryne appreciate the cause of the charity ball, namely, raising money to renovate the local orphanages up to modern standards, she also owed her aunt a favour as she had refused to take part in one of her habitual soirées a few weeks ago – at least Aunt P had told her so afterwards. The sole reason for refusing that invitation was that she and Detective Inspector Jack Robinson had been working on a tricky case at that time, but, of course, this wasn't exactly a valid excuse not to attend the party in her aunt's eyes. Besides, this ball seemed to be the next-best thing to bury that hatchet.

“Dot?”, she called from the hallway.

She heard her companion approaching from the kitchen.

“Yes, Miss?”

“It seems I have an appointment with the high end of town in a few days. So I could do with a fashion adviser.”

“And why are you asking me, Miss?”

“Well, I believe you know my wardrobe much better than I do!”

“Oh, I see ...”, Dot replied blushing sheepishly.

After one solid hour of ransacking her considerable wardrobe Phryne had eventually decided on dark magenta, soft flowing silk and the silver leaves-shaped headpiece she had already worn to several gala events. It had actually been Dot who had suggested the dress as it went beautifully with the new handbag she had bought Phryne to surprise her a few weeks ago; a handbag, she had explained to her back then, that was large enough to hold her pearl-handled pistol (“good thinking, Dot!”) and matched the dress she had hemmed for her not long ago. The charity ball would be the perfect opportunity to inaugurate said handbag.

Hopefully, she would only inaugurate her handbag that evening and not the new set of bullets lying innocently in the chamber of her pistol along with it, Phryne thought to herself. During their fashion show Dot had somehow managed to make the charity ball palatable to her, so in the end she was actually looking forward to it.

* * * *

Phryne had arrived at the _Riverside Hotel_. Dozens of lights were sparkling from the entrance arch. In addition to a handsome looking uniformed doorman, the outside stairs were being guarded by two marble statues resembling sitting lions, their diamond eyes glistening in the dark. For a second she had wondered if the doorman was not only standing there to welcome the guests, but was also instructed to keep an eye on those valuable statues, in case some financially distressed guest would come up with the idea of hammering out their eyes instead of declaring bankruptcy.

She had arrived earlier than Aunt P – which was hardly surprising. When Phryne had offered her aunt on the telephone to give her a lift she had refused her offer resolutely by saying, “No, thank you! I'll make my own way to the hotel!”, her voice sounding anxious and annoyed at the same time.

The entrance hall was bathed in light. Huge electrically operated crystal chandeliers were hanging from the high ceiling, true to the motto ' _to see and to be seen_ '. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the sudden brightness. The _Riverside Hotel_ was just as lavishly decorated as she had feared.

After a bellboy had gently taken Phryne's white fur stole she could almost feel the guests' glances turning towards her and her magenta, side ruched, calf-length evening dress. One could hardly blame them. Its asymmetrical neckline, leaving one shoulder uncovered, and the semi-transparent lace panels, studded with silver sequins, that were following the soft u-shaped folds easily upstaged the other invitees.

Oddly enough, this impression intensified as she entered the ballroom. It took her a moment to understand why everyone's glances lingered on her for a moment.

“You look divine, Phryne-dear!”

Her aunt approached her. When Aunt P sized up her dress Phryne realised that it matched the colours of the ballroom. Plain lilac wallpaper, decorated with silver framed mirrors, softly lit from behind, the chandeliers on the ceiling were more temporary than the ones she had seen in the entrance hall, the tall windows draped with dark rose coloured curtains – but it was the dance floor that actually attracted her attention. A fashionable art déco pattern, dark magenta, picking up on the colours of her dress and the t-strap _Mary Janes_. The black ebony chairs placed around the tables were resembling her dark silky hair. Without meaning to, she was the centre of attention.

“Aunt Prudence!”, she greeted her aunt, her voice sounding slightly hoarse.

They were about to mingle with the other guests when suddenly a young man addressed them.

“Excuse me, Madam, Miss … may I get through?”

Only then did Phryne notice that they were nearly blocking the golden-framed revolving door that led to the entrance hall.

Aunt Prudence stepped aside, slightly startled.

The dark-haired man turned to go, then spun around again.

“Oh, Mrs Stanley, I'm so sorry I didn't recognise you.”

He reached out his hand with an apologetic gesture.

“You know each other?”, Phryne asked curiously.

“Ahem, yes. Mr Riley Thompson is an importer of branded goods from the Continent. He donated some of his earnings to the Hospital Board during the past few months.”, her aunt explained quickly.

Slightly amused, she wondered if his business was run on a legal basis and if she should ask Bert and Cec some time if they knew him or have Jack check on him in the police records.

“… Mr Thompson, this is my niece, the Honourable Phryne Fisher.”

Phryne reached out her hand with an inviting smile.

“How do you do?”, he replied politely.

There was an awkward pause.

“So, if you'll excuse me.”

Mr Thompson nodded towards the door behind them.

“Oh, of course.”

Aunt P tried to put on a smile but it didn't look very convincing.

“What a ruffian!”, her aunt said sourly after a few seconds, “Never mind. Come, let me introduce you to a few guests.”

And so she dragged Phryne to a table surrounded by a small group to the left of them.

“Do you see that couple over there? They are Mr Graham and Mrs Catherine Walker. They were a great help organising this evening.”, Aunt P explained in a low voice, “Mr Walker is working as an architect for a renowned company. His wife used to be a nurse, now she's training midwives.”

“Is she?”

Phryne had never heard of such an institution in this city. To her knowledge, women had been facing a great deal of disapproval among the medical association up to the last decade.

Considering that this ball was held to raise money for the local orphanages, this piece of information made them look quite likeable.

“Oh, that's their son – James Walker.”, Aunt P added as they approached their table. A handsome, light-brown haired man had joined the group.

The next couple of minutes were filled with polite handshakes and some rather insubstantial compliments. The Walkers were a very good-natured family, Phryne had to agree with her aunt in that point, but their eloquence definitely lacked in vigour. Only James radiated a pleasant liveliness. But Aunt Prudence whisked her away to another group of guests before she even had the chance to get into conversation with him.

With some relief Phryne noticed that, meanwhile, other highly influential guests had arrived, so the toffee-nosed bystanders were not so much overawed by her stunning dress as occupied with gaping at the newcomers.

“And this is Lady Elisabeth Marshall, the richest guest who stays here at the moment. She's practically awash in money.”, her aunt whispered as she headed for a table at the other end of the ballroom.

“Aha, and what's her story?”, Phryne asked drily.

Aunt P cast an indignant glance at her.

“Phryne! Lady Marshall comes from a titled landholding family in England, although she has been living in Melbourne for more than five years now.”

“Then why is she staying at this hotel at the moment?”

“She's not the talkative type –“

“In contrast to present company?”

“Honestly! At least Lady Marshall knows how to behave in front of high society. And reticence is an important virtue in these circles, my dear. So if you would please let me do the talking?”, she concluded rather sternly.

Phryne sighed. This time she would need to restrain herself from showing her natural curiosity in order to live up to her title.

Lady Marshall was deep in conversation with a couple of guests when they drew closer, so she seized the moment of eyeing her more closely without appearing rude.

There was almost something regal about her appearance and one couldn't help admiring the light blue evening gown, that went perfectly with her strawberry blonde hair. It was composed of a floral-beaded bodice, tapering into a _V_ just below the hip, and an ankle-length chiffon dress falling in loose folds. A job that would probably even make the _House of Fleuri_ reach their limit, Phryne thought to herself. She estimated her to be roughly thirty years of age. Lady Marshall turned around for a moment when a waiter, carrying a silver tray of drinks, passed the small group to help herself to a glass of champagne. Now she could see the back of her dress properly. It had a daringly low back neckline supported by thin straps. A tall blond man wearing a white tux passed the group, hindering Phryne's sight. She followed him with her eyes curiously.

“About time!”, Aunt Prudence suddenly muttered next to her and grabbed her arm. Phryne had been deep in thought, so she hadn't noticed that Lady Marshall was heading towards them.

“Oh, you must be Mrs Prudence Stanley. I was just told that you're hosting this charity ball. What a charming idea to hold it at the _Riverside Hotel_. I really do appreciate your cause.”

Not only her title, but also her voice seemed to originate in English aristocracy, Phryne thought to herself.

“Well, er, thank you. The Hospital Board ...”, Aunt P began, obviously flattered, “Now, may I present my niece. The Honourable Phryne Fisher.”

Phryne had to try very hard not to roll her eyes. It wasn't the first time this evening she had the impression she was being followed by a broken gramophone unable to play other options how to start a conversation.

“Pleased to meet you.”, she smiled at Lady Marshall, shaking her hand.

There was a fair chance the mention of her title could ring a bell with Lady Marshall, so she hoped it wouldn't automatically associate her with her worrying, gambling father, otherwise known as Baron Henry George Fisher of Richmond-upon-Thames. It was some relief to know that, at this moment in time, her father was safely exiled to Lilydale with Bert and Cec keeping a close watch on him every now and then.

“Speaking on behalf of the Hospital Board, we are honoured to have you here tonight, Lady Marshall.”

By all looks, Aunt P had been thinking the same way. Given that her aunt considered Lady Marshall the more or less special guest of this gathering, it was the only reasonable explanation for that sudden change of subject and her stilted choice of words.

“The pleasure is all mine.”, Lady Marshall smiled politely.

“That's a very lovely dress.”, Phryne said quickly.

If the rest of the room wouldn't do so, at least someone had to step up and treat Lady Marshall like a mere mortal tonight.

“Likewise.”

This time she gave her a natural smile.

After that, Phryne successfully engaged Lady Marshall into conversation about the charity measures in this town and what was still necessary to be done. Although Lady Marshall seemed to be less familiar with the conditions of the poor than Phryne was, she didn't seem to be shocked at as to how she did. When she was just considering to tell that she had helped a homeless boy from Collingwood to find his brother a couple of weeks ago, Aunt Prudence cast a warning glance at her.

“If you'll excuse us, Lady Marshall.”, her aunt interposed, “I'm afraid there are so many people the Hospital Board has to welcome tonight.”

Phryne was pretty sure that they had welcomed all in her aunt's eyes relevant guests already a while ago, but as to make the pretext look convincing she said goodbye to Lady Marshall and followed her aunt.

“Lucky, you didn't tell Lady Marshall where you get your information, my dear. I don't want the guests to feel … supervised tonight.”, her aunt said in a low voice and linked arms with her.

“Aunt P!”, she exclaimed appalled.

She twisted herself free from her.

“Shh!”

So as to give the lie to her aunt, Aunt P suddenly pointed at a group of elegantly dressed men and women to the right.

“Ah, look who's here!”

As it turned out her aunt had invited a formation team of renowned dancers, who would showcase their artistry later this evening. The men wore smart, black, tight tailcoats. The women were dressed in silver, loose-fitting, fringed frocks, with the sequinned fringes starting to waft at the slightest movement. Admittedly, there were worse measures to humour high society, Phryne thought to herself.

The dancers were a lively lot to talk to. For her aunt's sake Phryne didn't share her brief foray into show-dancing at Madam Lyon's _Gentlemen's Club_ earlier this year, although she was certain that they wouldn't have frowned upon hearing this story.

“May I present Mrs Irina Martin. She has been the leading dancer for several years now.”, Aunt P explained proudly when a slim blonde woman headed towards them.

“Phryne Fisher.”, she introduced herself, “Nice to meet you, Mrs Martin.”

“Likewise. Irina will do.”, the young woman smiled back.

“You're running the troupe all by yourself?”, Phryne asked curiously.

“No, not exactly. Humphrey, he's my husband, is my right-hand man. I think I couldn't do it without him.”

“He's a dancer as well?”

“Oh, yes. We've been dancing together for more than three years now.”, she turned around for a moment, “He just left to find ourselves a drink, I believe.”

“There's nothing like seeing Mr and Mrs Martin waltzing together, my dear.”, Aunt P chimed in – rather intrusively.

“Well, in my experience, it's not so much a certain talent that matters as the one partner.”, Irina Martin replied, obviously trying to humanise herself.

“I'm sure it is.”, Phryne nodded politely, although she suddenly found herself at a loss for words.

“What about your Inspector-friend? You could have brought him along!”, Aunt P asked.

“Oh, you mean Jack? Er, I'm not sure if waltz and foxtrot are his stock-in-trade.”

In reality, she knew they were – at least the former one. She had indeed considered to invite him, but she knew that he didn't feel particularly comfortable among a crowd. And for some inexplicable reason she couldn't name it had occurred to her that he would perhaps construe such an invitation as a mere pretext on her part to bring along the obligatory companion to keep up appearances in front of high society.

The orchestra had started playing.

Phryne recognised the song – _Ben Selvin, Am I blue_. Without her noticing James Walker had joined them in the meantime and was chatting to one of the dancers. The invitees were gradually heading for the dance floor.

So as not to fall victim to the male hyenas on the watch for easy prey Phryne quickly grasped James' hand and asked him to a dance – ladies' choice was disregarded way too often anyway. It was a good choice as it turned out. He was a skilful foxtrot-dancer. Pleasant and by no means pushy – a trait, she could tell from personal experience, not every dance partner possessed. Thinking back, dancing with Mr Tintagel Stone – or rather Tentacle Stone – at the _Green Mill_ had been the worst experience of her terpsichorean career.

However, as the music went on Phryne noticed that, after turning into a promenade position, James developed a liking for leading an underarm turn. She couldn't help thinking that he enjoyed this step as it offered a good view of the low-cut back of her dress.

Men were frequently known to seize the opportunity of a formal dance to express their feelings, but James' suspiciously gentle way of showing his admiration made her wonder if he had perhaps misinterpreted her invitation to this dance and considered her to be easy prey for him after all.

They had turned into a basic action again.

“I hope I'm not disappointing you. It has been a while since I last showed up at a ball.”, James smiled charmingly.

“Not at all.”, Phryne smiled back, “Quite the contrary. It would be almost rude of you if you would safe your dancing skills only for me.”

When she felt that they were turning into a corner step she seized the opportunity of nodding towards a group of fashionable young women, who were eyeing them from the other end of the room. James turned around with another corner step to see who Phryne was referring to. What he didn't know was that the same couple of girls had already gaped at her dress when she had arrived at the hotel.

“And what's your preferred dance?”

By the look of things, James wasn't the versatile ladies' man she had considered him to be. Perhaps it was time to resort to some extreme measures.

She put on an inviting smile.

“Well, I'm not exactly one for Charleston, but I'm always happy to help you brush up on your Tango. You know what they say about this dance?”

“I'm afraid not. Tell me!”, he asked eagerly.

“It's the vertical expression of a horizontal desire.”

She lowered her eyes with a knowing, suggestive smirk – an art she had mastered to absolute perfection.

James, visibly flustered, cleared his throat and they turned into a promenade position again.

“Ah, I see …”, was his only reply.

Phryne was pretty sure that – judging by the invitees' average age and the circumstance that it was her aunt who had organised this ball – the orchestra wasn't going to play a genuine Argentinian Tango in a hurry tonight.

She felt relieved when the music came to an end. Not because of James Walker's subtle advances, rather due to the discovery that they made her feel uneasy in the first place.

She couldn't tell if it was the sort of dance that made her feel like this, but she wouldn't go into raptures by a flirtation attempt that easily, whatever James' liveliness.

The orchestra was having a break after its first performance and the ballroom was filled with a jaunty Charleston.

When they returned to their table Aunt P and the Walkers had left. Hardly surprising, she detected her aunt near Lady Marshall's table in conversation with the blond man she had noticed earlier.

In the meantime, a lavish buffet had been opened. If Phryne hadn't known her aunt had organised for the leftovers to be given to charity the next day, she wouldn't have touched any of the food and drinks. But as she felt that James' gaze seemed to be more drawn to her bare shoulder than to the tempting meal, she decided to mingle with the crowd and find herself a drink.

The music faded away behind her (Gene Austin).

_Five foot two, eyes of blue_

_But, oh boy, what those five could do_

_Has anybody seen my girl?_

_Turned up nose, turned down hose_

_Flapper, yes sir, one of those_

_Has anybody seen my girl?_

_Now, if you run into a five foot two_

_Covered with fur_

_Diamond rings and all those things_

_You can bet your life that it isn't her ..._

Phryne was heading for the adjoining lounge when she noticed a dark shape on the floor behind the reception desk. She paused for a moment. After a few seconds she realised that what she was seeing were the receptionist's legs. They weren't moving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you might know my Instagram account (julia_rowena) where I'm regularly posting different sorts of Miss Fisher fan art.  
> Check the 'story highlights' on my Instagram account to see an illustration of Phryne's evening dress I described in chapter 1 🙂


	2. Jewels All Over Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting mysterious. Knowing Phryne, she will play a vital role in what is about to happen. Don't worry, the police will arrive soon.

Phryne slipped, or rather burst, through the golden-framed revolving door.

It had gone quiet in the entrance hall. Dead and ominous silence was filling the air.

Then a soft whimper came from behind the counter. She knelt down on the cold marble floor.

“Hello?” – a badge pinned to the receptionist's lapel read _E. Winter_ – “Can you hear me? Mr Winter?”, she asked, carefully shaking his shoulders.

“Mr Winter?”

She sounded panic-stricken now.

The grey-haired man opened his eyes. He lifted one hand to the back of his head, groaning with pain. Phryne noticed an overturned umbrella stand lying next to him on the floor.

“You were attacked? By whom?”

Her voice cracked.

“The … keys, … check … the safe.”, he uttered faintly.

She spun around.

The hook which was supposed to hold the hotel's set of keys was empty.

A notebook, showing a combination of numbers, lay on the counter.

There was no time to lose.

After Phryne had checked that the receptionist had only received a heavy blow to his head she rushed towards the hotel office where the hotel safe was being kept. Perhaps, if she was quick enough, regardless of how much her feet were aching in her shoes, she could still catch the attacker in the act. She quickened her pace. Good thing she had overhead a few scraps of conversation earlier tonight (two elderly ladies asking a bellboy about the state of their valuables), so she knew her way.

Maybe choosing to inaugurate her new handbag had been a bad omen after all, she thought when she reached the office; with her gun at the ready.

But as it turned out, she probably wouldn't need to use it tonight.

The door was unlocked, the safe had already been plundered and the robber had vanished.

She looked around frantically. Some valuables had been left behind in the safe.

She wondered if the hotel staff kept a list on which the contents of the safe were recorded in some way. It might at least help to establish which items had been stolen. She started looking around for such a chart and spotted a glistening drawing pin on the wall next to the safe. It only held a triangular scrap of paper. If she was dealing with a smart robber, they would have probably disposed of that list as quickly as possible. Best before even leaving the room, not risking to drop it accidentally when making off with the loot. But how would they do that?

She was answered this question when she noticed a crumpled sheet of paper dwindling away in the fireplace, its edges glowing redly.

“Damn it!”, she cursed, most unladylike as Aunt P would say.

Phryne was about to leave and look for the nearest telephone box when she heard hurried footsteps approaching. Perhaps one of the staff had found Mr Winter and had sent for help. A second later a bellboy, ashen-faced and all out of breath, appeared in the doorway.

“Call the police!”, she cried instinctively before he even got the chance to have his say.

Only after he had looked at her for a few seconds, bewilderment written on his face, she realised that the safe behind her still stood open. In her left hand she held some of the items that had been left behind, her right hand was still holding her gun at the ready.

She could see him wondering, which of them should actually call the police.

Phryne quickly let go of the valuables and her pistol.

When the bellboy had recovered his breath and had established that she wasn't a robber he uttered: “A body, ground floor, east wing, jewels all over her.”, before he leant against the door frame in exhaustion.

“Stay here!”, she called in an alarmed tone.

* * * *

“Too bad, the bellboy isn't exactly a trained sprinter.”, Jack said wryly as he bent over the body, “I'd have loved being summoned in the middle of the night to take a wolf in sheep's clothing into police custody.”

He looked up and eyed Phryne with a brief glance. Dark silk and white fur.

She cast an irritated glance at him.

As the stairs where the body had been found led to a rear exit of the hotel Phryne had had the white fur stole brought to her. However, she was slightly freezing in the cool night air when a draught made her silk dress waft around her legs.

“Do you recognise her?”

Jack had stood up.

“I don't think so, Jack.”

Aunt P had dragged her along behind her all evening. She had introduced her to dozens of well-off guests, all of them dressed up to the nines. Thinking back, the evening seemed like a medley of gaudy colours to her.

The red-haired, slightly plump, young woman lying on the floor was wearing a navy blue, middling elegant dress. The bellboy's description, ' _jewels all over her_ ', had been rather exaggerated, as it had turned out.

Next to her lay an open travelling bag that was full of valuables. The bag was labelled as property of a _Miss Rose Hamilton_. According to the hotel's guest register she had been in Lady Marshall's employ as her servant girl. Several items had fallen out of her bag and were now scattered on the ground. In her right hand she held the hotel's set of keys. Despite the cool night air her body felt still warm, so the time of death had to be recent. Probably the unluckiest safe robber in the world, Phryne thought to herself.

By all looks the young woman had knocked down the receptionist Mr Edward Winter with an umbrella stand around eleven o'clock, stolen the set of keys and then robbed the safe.

“You think she was pushed down the stairs?”, Jack asked after he had had a look around, his hands in his coat pockets.

“Well, this would be an odd place to find her if she fell down a staircase by accident.”, Phryne explained dramatically.

“Why do you think so?”

“The room the safe is kept in is on the ground floor. The stairs here lead to the first floor! If she wanted to make off with the loot as quickly as possible, surely she would have tried to leave the hotel through a rear exit on the ground floor instead of heading for the first floor. Especially, as her own room is situated on the second floor in the west wing of the building … Unless, of course, she was caught in the act and had to flee!”

“By whom?”

“One of the staff, perhaps?”

“She could still have tripped when trying to run off. How can you be sure that it wasn't an accident?”, Jack interposed.

“Why, look at her hairstyle, Jack!”

Phryne made a sweeping gesture towards the girl's head.

“What about it?”, he asked bewildered.

“It's completely dishevelled! A clear sign that she has been involved in some kind of struggle before she fell down the stairs. Honestly! I don't know when was the last time you fell down a staircase, Jack, but I'll bet you anything that not even you would look that dishevelled when just tripping by accident! No … she was pushed down the stairs deliberately.”

He smiled mildly. He remembered vividly when had been the last time he had _almost_ fallen down a staircase.

“I see …”, he replied in silent admiration.

Then a thought crossed his mind.

“Have you considered the bellboy, Mr Riggs, in your conjectures, Miss Fisher?”

He had lowered his voice since they were still within earshot of Hugh and Mr Riggs as he was taking down the bellboy's statements.

“Perhaps he pushed her down the stairs, but tried to make it look as if it had been an accident and he had only been the one who found her.”

Phryne paused for a moment, then shook her head.

“If that was the case, our Mr Riggs would need to be an excellent actor, Jack. Judging by that rather greenish complexion he's sporting, I'm surprised he didn't faint on the spot. And why would he run to the hotel office first instead of reporting an apparent accident, preferably coherent with the time of death, to one of his colleagues?”

“So what are you getting at, Miss Fisher?”, Jack asked insistently.

“I think Mr Riggs spotted our robber already lying dead on the floor from afar, took fright at her sight, saw the glittering and wanted to check the safe as quickly as possible. His first description of the crime scene wasn't actually correct, remember?”

Jack looked down at the crime scene thinking about the points she had just brought forward.

“Well, looks like you found yourself another murder, Miss Fisher.”, he said after a moment's consideration.


	3. A Servant Girl Gone Rogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now the detective work begins! Of course the entire Miss Fisher Family is on board 🙂 Let's get started ...

The telephone rang from the hallway.

“Why, that's early, Dorothy!”, Mr Butler said in surprise.

“I'll get it.”, Dot offered since he was just doing the dishes in the kitchen.

She picked up the receiver in the hallway.

“Miss Fisher's residence, Dorothy Williams speaking?”, she answered politely.

“Ah, Dot! I hope I didn't wake you?”

Dot was slightly bewildered when she recognised Phryne's cheerful voice.

“No, Miss. Mr Butler and I just finished breakfast. Did you have a pleasant evening, Miss?”

“I can't say yet, Dot.”

“Miss?”, she asked worried.

“Well, a servant girl of a guest tried to rob the hotel safe last night and ended up at the bottom of a staircase. I decided to stay here until this case is solved, so I need you to bring me a few things.”

Dot sighed with relief. For a moment she had feared that something had happened to her beloved employer.

“Oh ... wait a moment, I will write it down for you.”

Phryne listed several items she would need for her stay at the hotel and Dot took notes dutifully.

“Please ask Bert and Cec to drive you to the _Riverside Hotel_ , Dot.”, she concluded.

“Alright, Miss!”

“Thank you! See you then –”

When Dot skimmed through the list that now lay on the little table a thought crossed her mind.

“Miss?”, she began tentatively. She could feel her heart beating faster.

“Yes?”, Phryne asked cheerfully.

“... Err ... do you also want me to bring the ... small leather case you keep in your dressing table?”, she asked quickly.

“I'm not staying here for fun, Dot.”, she sounded serious now, “Besides, most of the guests are almost twice my age and the staff seems very professional to me! I'd like to keep it that way!”

“Oh, suit yourself then!”

Dot tried to affect a casual laugh, but it didn't sound very convincing.

“Morning, Dottie!”

She spun around.

Bert was leaning nonchalantly against the door frame to the dining room. Judging from the grin on his face he had been standing there for quite some time. Dot dropped the receiver in shock. She found herself blushing crimson and picked it up quickly, avoiding Bert's sneering smile.

”Dot? Dot, are you still there? Is everything alright?”

“Yes, Miss ... everything's alright, Miss! I'll start packing right away!”, she assured Phryne.

“Great! See you later!”

Her employer rang off. Dot stood up and smoothed down her beige skirt.

“Good morning, Bert, ahem,”, she tried to give some authority to her voice, “Miss Fisher has a job for you and Cec.”

“Go on!”

“Miss will stay at the _Riverside Hotel_ for a few days and needs us to bring her some articles of daily use.”

Bert cast a sardonic look at her. She knew exactly what he was thinking and she blushed again.

“Sounds like some fancy joint for bloody toffs to me.”, he said in an unimpressed tone.

She gave him a reproachful look.

“Righto!”, he muttered resignedly.

Dot was walking up the stairs to Phryne's bedroom when she heard Bert's voice from the hallway.

“Oi, Dottie! Don't forget to bring the silk smalls!”, he shouted after her.

For a moment she was considering to call another taxi instead.

After Mr Butler had helped Dot fetching Phryne's _Louis Vuitton_ suitcase from the attic she started collecting the items she had written down. She was relieved that Phryne had left the house with a new set of bullets in her gun last night. The mere thought of smuggling ammunition into a high-end hotel made her shudder.

Phryne had given her free rein to choose her wardrobe and Dot took great pleasure in doing so. Half an hour later Mr Butler knocked at the bedroom door, asking if she had finished packing and if he could assist her carrying the suitcase down the stairs.

As he carried the suitcase straight to Bert and Cec's cab, Bert didn't dare to jibe at possible contents of the suitcase. During the drive Cec's calm nature silenced him. He even had the decency not to make any snide remarks when they arrived at the opulent hotel and a keen uniformed bellboy approached them. Bert and Cec were about to get the luggage from the car boot when the bellboy addressed them politely.

“May I help you with your suitcase, Miss?”

“Oh, of course! Thank you, sir!”, Dot smiled at him.

The bellboy placed Phryne's suitcase onto a trolley with practised hands. It dawned on Bert that his help was probably no longer required so he cast a black look at him and started rolling a cigarette instead.

Dot followed the bellboy to the hotel entrance.

“Is this your first stay at the _Riverside Hotel_ , Miss?”, a blond, young receptionist asked Dot.

“Oh, no!”, she smiled, “I just came here to deliver a suitcase for one of your guests. A _Miss Phryne Fisher_.”

“I see …, let me check the guest register.”

Dot was so overwhelmed by the exquisite furnishing of the hotel that, initially, she didn't notice Phryne walking across the entrance hall. She was still wearing her magenta evening dress.

“That was quick, Dot!”

“Oh, good morning, Miss!”, Dot greeted her slightly startled.

“So, this is your luggage, Miss?”, the receptionist asked Phryne.

“Oh, yes!”

“Shall I have it brought to your room?”

“That'd be lovely!”, she smiled at the receptionist, “Come along, Dot!”

* * * *

“Poor thing. So, where did it happen, Miss?”, Dot asked after Phryne had filled her in on last night's happenings.

“The staircase just down that hallway.”, Phryne emerged from behind the pastel-coloured, oriental screen for a moment and pointed towards the suite door.

Now it dawned on Dot why she had taken a hotel suite comparatively modest for her standards.

“I thought you had chosen this room because of the good view.”, Dot said mildly.

She pulled the silky curtains aside and watched the river sparkling in the sunlight from the wide windows.

“I do hope so!”

Dot turned around again.

Meanwhile, Phryne had changed into day wear. She had donned white trousers and a light grey blouse. She had come out from behind the screen to look at her reflection in the standing mirror. Dot had got used to her employer's sense of humour by now so she gave her a vague smile.

“That's better, isn't it?”, Phryne pirouetted in her white leather caged sandals.

“Yes, Miss!”

“I've been thinking, Dot …”

She sat down on the spacious bed and clapped on the edge of the bed. Dot followed her.

“Perhaps we could book a suite at this hotel for you and Hugh. For your honeymoon.”, Phryne beamed at her companion.

“Oh, no, Miss. We couldn't aff-”, Dot gestured refusing.

“As a _wedding gift_.”, she cut her short.

“Ahem, … I think Hugh would like to go somewhere quiet and idyllic.”, Dot replied flustered.

They hadn't exactly panned out there honeymoon in particular so far.

“He once suggested to go to Sorrento, for fishing.”

Phryne wasn't an experienced honeymooner – and probably never would be, she thought to herself – but she could think of far more enticing activities for newly-weds.

“Don't you think Hugh is done with fishing from his leave last month? I saw the postcards.”

She raised her eyebrows quizzically.

“Maybe …”

Dot smoothed down the soft bedspread evasively.

Hugh had mentioned the idea of getting some distance from _Wardlow_ or the _City South Police Station_ and going somewhere quiet for their honeymoon – as his boss had once commented that no-one would have a quiet time around Miss Fisher. Dot had a bad feeling leaving her beloved employer behind for a couple of weeks, but she hadn't protested this time and had decided to let Hugh take care of the arrangements. She couldn't help thinking that he had been referring to _Wardlow_ in particular when he had suggested 'somewhere quiet', though.

“Is something the matter?”, Phryne asked, bewildered at Dot's pensive look.

“No, Miss.”, she looked up to her, “I was just wondering, … I mean … are you sure you'll manage without me?”

“Oh, Dot!”, Phryne sighed softly, “Don't let me keep you from spreading your wings. You can spend as much time as you like with Hugh. I'm sure this city will keep me occupied in the meantime.”

Dot cast a startled glance at her.

“Socially.”, Phryne added insistently.

Although she caught herself thinking she wouldn't mind one or two murders that would happen to lead her past the _City South Police Station_.

“Promise, Dot.”, she smiled and patted her knee encouragingly.

Dot nodded, a vague smile on her face.

The clock on the mantelpiece started striking ten.

“Oh, that reminds me,”, Phryne said enthusiastically, “Jack said he'll drop by at the hotel sometime this morning. Come on, Dot! Let's see if Jack and Hugh have already arrived.”

“Yes, Miss.”

Passing the dressing table next to the wardrobe, Phryne snatched the grey-blue, wide-brimmed hat and a matching handbag.

* * * *

Phryne was showing Dot to the entrance hall, (she had pressed a generous tip for Bert and Cec into her hand), when she spotted the familiar, blue _Graham-Paige_ pulling up outside.

“Morning, Jack!”

She pranced down the outside stairs, the sheer sleeves of her blouse wafting behind her. Jack and Hugh stepped out of his car.

“Ah, Miss Fisher! It seems you've already settled in your temporary accommodation.”

The doorman cast a frowning look at Jack.

“And what a luxurious temporary accommodation this is!”, she replied lively, her voice slightly raised as she had noticed the disapproving expression on the doorman's face, “I even managed to take a suite on the first floor near the staircase our victim _fell to her death_.”

“All by lawful means, I take it?”

Jack cast a sly glance at her and took off his hat.

“Morning, Miss!”, Hugh chimed in after he had planted a little kiss on Dot's cheek.

Phryne and Jack turned towards them, slightly startled.

“Oh, morning, Hugh!”, she greeted him cheerfully.

Hugh let quickly go of Dot's shoulder when he noticed his boss' stern look.

“Let's get started, Constable!”

Jack briefly tilted his head towards the hotel entrance.

“Sir.”, Hugh nodded and adjusted his black helmet.

“Er, Miss?”, Dot asked tentatively, “Is there anything I can do for you in the meantime?”

“Not yet, I believe. But I'll call you as soon as I have a task for you, Dot!”, she patted her companion's shoulder.

“See you later, Dottie!”

Hugh gently squeezed Dot's hand one last time, then she made her way to Bert and Cec's cab.

* * * *

“Not much to see here.”, Jack concluded after they had had a look around in the hotel office.

Hugh had collected the valuables that had been left behind in the safe last night – such as bracelets, pearl necklaces, a bundle of foreign bank notes, a neatly arranged collection of sparkling minerals, some old-fashioned fob watches – and was now taking them to the police car.

“Yes, our dead woman has done an excellent job last night.”, Phryne replied drily, opening one drawer of the filing cabinet next to the safe after the other – rather out of curiosity than with the intention to find anything remarkable.

She had given Jack her account of last night's events – including her failure to notice the record of the safe contents dwindling away in the fireplace. Deep inside she was slightly angry with herself. She felt as if she had missed all relevant happenings last night.

Given that Rose Hamilton had got hold of the hotel's set of keys by knocking down the receptionist with an umbrella stand, neither the door nor the large safe were featuring any kind of scratch marks that would point to a violent break-in.

“Collins and I paid Mr Winter a visit at the hospital this morning –”, Jack began.

“Oh?”

Phryne spun around in surprise.

“How is he? Did you ask him what he can remember about last night?”

“The doctor in charge assured us that he'll be fine. Mr Winter couldn't tell us when exactly he was attacked. He recalls reading the evening paper before he blacked out, … which suggests he was rather distracted when the assault happened.”

Jack decided not to mention that, on this occasion, he had also checked on the nameless man who had gone after Phryne's father, had held her household as hostages a couple of weeks ago and who now was still in coma as he had been forced to resort to violence against him back then.

“What a shame …, that he couldn't tell you what happened, I mean.”

“Yeah, at least we know he'll be alright.”

Jack passed her the brown envelope, containing photographs of the crime scene, Hugh had left for them and squatted down. Resting one hand on his left knee, he eyed the steel door of the safe more closely.

“Um, no point in testing the safe for fingerprints. Anyone of the staff could have touched it yesterday.”

“No, … and Rose was wearing gloves in any case.”, Phryne replied pensively.

He stood up again.

Phryne had sat down on the large desk and was skimming through the photographs while dangling her legs.

“Why would she leave some of the valuables behind? If someone had caught her trying to rob the safe on the spot she wouldn't have made it to the east wing … Maybe she had someone in particular in mind.”, she thought aloud.

“Or her travelling bag wasn't large enough to hold all items from the safe.”, Jack responded, thinking of the valuables that had been scattered on the ground at the crime scene.

He was about to close the safe, when Phryne suddenly spotted something glistening on the floor.

“Wait, Jack!”

She quickly stood up from the desk to examine it more closely. It was a navy blue hair clip.

“Well …”, she started smiling, “I think we just found the evidence that Rose was definitely here last night.”

He cast a bewildered look at her.

She held her find out to him on the flat of her hand, looking rather pleased with herself. He leaned forward, reducing the distance between them to about three inches.

“A match for the victim's dress?”

“Exactly!”, she replied wide-eyed.

Moments like this, Jack knew exactly why he was letting a _kid from Collingwood_ cooperate with the police. He was pretty sure that Phryne's keen eye for expensive items lying in the most inconspicuous places was dating from her tomboy childhood.

“Hm.”

He gave her a silent nod of appreciation when she put the hair clip into her handbag.

“Sir.”, Hugh appeared in the doorway.

Phryne and Jack started up.

Jack stepped backwards to establish a what was considered proper distance between them. Hugh looked at them in bewilderment.

“Um, I didn't mean to –”

“Ahem.”, Jack cleared his throat, “It's alright, Collins. I think we've seen all we can here.”

“Oh. Now what, er …?”, Hugh asked; not sure whom he should address first.

“Well, based on last night's considerations, that our victim was caught in the act by one of the staff after she had robbed the safe, I'd say we should ask the staff who were on duty at the time in question if they noticed something out of the ordinary and if they can provide an alibi …”, Phryne suggested before Jack could even have his say, “It's no use taking aim at the hotel guests, until we can rule out the people who are much more likely to have seen Rose last night with certainty. Especially because we need to assign the stolen valuables in her bag to the single hotel guests first to check if she had someone in particular in mind when robbing the safe.”, she concluded her monologue.

Phryne had to suppress a smirk when she realised that Hugh had pulled out his little notebook, (actually designed to take down testimonies), to write down her suggestions; his brows furrowed, his tongue between his teeth.

Jack had noticed too and elbowed his constable in the ribs, clearing his throat.

“Sir, … sorry, sir.”, Hugh muttered in embarrassment.

“We should also have a word with the victim's employer, Lady Marshall, Miss Fisher. At the moment it seems she's the only person who can tell us more about Miss Hamilton. We already notified her last night, but I have announced a visit for this morning.”, Jack interposed quickly to prevent another flood of words on Phryne's part.

“Of course –”

“– I suggest we split up. You and I will talk to Lady Marshall and Constable Collins will question the hotel staff.”

“Alone …, sir?”, Hugh asked slightly anxious.

“Yes. I have complete faith in your abilities, Constable.”

He clapped him on the shoulder.

“Thank you, sir!”

“Oh, and …, Collins!”, Jack added quickly as Hugh turned to go.

“Yes, sir?”

“Please ask the hotelier to spread word that we'd like the guests to report their valuables so we can establish which items were left in the safe and which were found next to the body.”

“Alright, sir!”

Hugh left the hotel office and started looking for the hotelier. Good thing he had written down Phryne's instructions earlier, he thought to himself.

“Shall we, Jack?”, Phryne asked zestfully.

* * * *

Jack knocked at the half glass door to Lady Marshall's hotel suite.

“Mind you don't smash that pane, Inspector!”, Phryne said quickly when they heard footsteps approaching from the other side of the door.

He cast a brief, slightly irritated sidelong glance at her.

The oval cut-glass panes, depicting floral elements, alone indicated who called the shots on this floor.

Lady Marshall opened the door. Her expression was composed. She was wearing a calf-length, double-layered mourning dress. The grey slip was covered by a black, half-sheer chiffon dress, its long trumpet sleeves embroidered with matching sequins.

Probably the most exquisite mourning dress she had ever seen, Phryne thought to herself.

“How can I help you?”, she asked soberly.

“Detective Inspector Jack Robinson. I believe my constable announced my visit last night.”, Jack introduced himself.

“Oh, yes, I remember.”

“Our condolences, Lady Marshall.”, Phryne added.

Lady Marshall looked at her in bewilderment for a moment.

“We met last night, didn't we? You're a relative of Mrs Stanley's.”

“That's right! Phryne Fisher, lady detective.”

“I see.”

“We would like to ask you a few questions about your servant girl, Lady Marshall. May we come in?”, Jack continued.

“Oh, of course.”

When Lady Marshall showed them into the living room of her suite Phryne glanced around casually. As was often the case she couldn't restrain her natural curiosity.

Lady Marshall's hotel suite was strongly reminiscent of the suite she had taken at the _Windsor Hotel_ for a few weeks after she had arrived in Melbourne about a year ago. Only that her suite back then had been furnished with solid inter doors instead of half glass doors.

Jack took off his hat and sat down on one of the pastel-coloured chintz chairs.

“Pray, what exactly happened to Rose? Your constable said she was found at the bottom of a staircase?”

“That's right. By all looks your servant girl Rose Hamilton tried to rob the hotel safe last night. We assume someone caught her in the act, resulting in a struggle that led to a fatal fall from a steep staircase.”

“And it seems, her death wasn't an accident.”, Phryne added as she seated herself next to Jack. She had just finished eyeing the living room.

“Dear god! My poor Rose! How could that happen?”, Lady Marshall exclaimed, clutching at the back of a cream armchair.

“She knocked down the receptionist and stole the hotel's set of keys. She got the safe combination from a notebook behind the reception desk.”, Phryne explained.

Lady Marshall sat down on the armchair opposite them, sighing shakily.

“You said you needed to ask me a few questions?”

She sat up and smoothed down her dress.

“Yes. When did you last see Miss Hamilton last night?”, Jack began as a matter of routine.

He had taken a small notebook out of his coat pocket.

“Before I went to the ball. That would have been around eight o'clock, I believe.”

Phryne knitted her brows.

“She wasn't with you at the party, Lady Marshall? I noticed she was wearing a going-out dress.”

Jack had got used to Phryne's own investigation questionnaire by now.

“No, I had given her the evening off.”

Phryne paused and thought for a moment. She couldn't recall seeing the victim at the ball. Then again, with her aunt hounding her all evening, she wasn't sure if she could trust her observation skills this time.

“Did she seem different to you when you last saw her?”

Jack looked up from his notebook.

“No, she seemed fine.”

“Hm.”, he nodded, “And did she behave differently of late?”

“Not that I recall.”

Lady Marshall looked at them in utter bewilderment. She was definitely flabbergasted by the whole affair, Phryne thought.

Phryne reached into her silver handbag.

“Lady Marshall, we found this hair clip in the hotel office next to the safe. Can you tell us if it belonged to your servant girl?”

She held the trinket out to her.

“Yes … that was hers. I helped her doing her hair with it.”, she replied hoarsely, “I can't believe this. I never would have guessed that Rose would condescend to such a demeanour. It seems I didn't know her at all!”

Jack pursed his lips and lowered his eyes compassionately.

By the look of it, Lady Marshall was on the verge of tears.

“I'm afraid, we have to ask you where you were last night between ten and eleven o'clock, Lady Marshall. Just for the record.”, Jack asked calmly.

“I was at the ball. Later in the evening I felt a bit faint, so I decided to retire around ten. Mr Winter, the receptionist, bade me good night in the entrance hall before I went upstairs.”

She had regained her composure.

“Did you meet anyone else after you had left the entrance hall?”

“I'm afraid not, sir.”

“And you stayed in your room all night?”

“Yes.”

“Alright.”, Jack nodded, “What else can you tell us about the deceased? How did you get on with her?”

“She had been working for me since roughly one year now. Rose was always very dutiful. My Girl Friday, as it were.”

Lady Marshall smiled vaguely.

There was a brief pause.

“Were you and Miss Hamilton travelling alone, Lady Marshall?”, Phryne asked casually.

“No, we were travelling with Anthony Drake, Miss Fisher.”

“A relative?”

“Just an old friend of the family.”, she explained.

“Did Rose Hamilton make any friends or enemies since she had been staying here? Or can you think of anyone who could have wanted to harm her?”, Jack followed the obligatory questions.

“As far as I know, she didn't make any other acquaintances. I don't see why anyone would have wanted to harm her, although, I shouldn't say so, but there was tension between her and Anthony, at times.”

Phryne and Jack exchanged brief glances.

“What kind of tension?”, Jack asked eagerly.

“He was questioning the morals of my servant girl since we settled in at the _Riverside Hotel_.”

“Did Mr Drake have any kind of argument with Miss Hamilton recently?”

“Not that I know of. Actually, they hardly spoke to each other.”, Lady Marshall replied, shaking her head.

“Is there a chance we can speak to him?”, Phryne interposed curiously.

“Of course. He's staying opposite me.”

“I think that's all for now, Lady Marshall.”, Jack closed his notebook, “Thank you for taking the time to answer our questions. If you wouldn't mind showing us Miss Hamilton's room?”

“Be my guest. This way.”

Lady Marshall led them to a room adjoining the living room.

“One more question, Lady Marshall.”, Phryne spun around, “Did you keep any valuables in the hotel safe?”

“Er, yes. An opal necklace and a matching bracelet.”, she replied before she left them.

Jack opened the door and let Phryne pass with an after-you-gesture, his hat in his hand, before he entered Rose's room.

Phryne glanced around in the surprisingly light and spacious bedroom.

“Why, that certainly is a servants' quarter worth killing for. Lucky, it was her day off. Given the choice, I'd rather be pushed down a staircase than being stabbed in my own bed.”

She ran her fingers along the soft fringed bedspread.

“And I'd hate to see these sheets soaked with blood.”

Jack cast a stern thinking-you're-so-funny-look at her, but he couldn't suppress the brief twitch in the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah, … fortunately, our murderer has thwarted such a costly scenario.”

He turned around to inspect the large wardrobe.

Phryne knelt down and started searching the dressing table next to the bed. Her eyes were immediately drawn to a small jewellery box. She opened it curiously.

“Hm …”

She felt the temperature of some pearl necklaces and brooches and held a few glistening earrings up to the light.

“I do hope you're just browsing, Miss Fisher?”

Jack glanced over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. He had just finished examining the victim's clothes.

“Don't worry! These are only costume jewellery and paste. I wouldn't blame Rose for leaving such items behind. The idea of robbing a safe when opportunity offers itself looks much more appealing to me. Anything worth noting in her wardrobe?”

“I don't think so. None of her belongings look particularly extravagant.”, Jack inferred from the simple fact that he was just looking at the exact antithesis of a modest servant girl.

“Perhaps we'll have more luck with that bedside table.”

Phryne pointed to the right of the bed.

Jack squatted down in front of it and tried the top drawer.

“It's locked. I'll get Lady Marshall. Perhaps she can help us with this drawer.”

He was about to stand up when he noticed that Phryne sighed heavily for some reason.

“What?”

He cast a bewildered look at her.

“You're not serious about _asking_ her for the key, are you, Jack?”

He knitted his brows quizzically.

She rolled her eyes and opened her handbag.

“Here! Try this!”, she passed him her elegantly wrought lock-pick with an encouraging smile.

“Er …”

His jaw dropped open as he glanced up to her.

“It's our victim's room, not Lady Marshall's. It doesn't make any difference who opens the drawer, does it? And don't tell me you need a signed warrant by whatever High Court there is so you can justify such an action!”, she explained at a terrific speed.

“If you put it this way.”

Jack pursed his lips resignedly.

Phryne knelt down next to him, put the lock-pick into the keyhole and unlocked the drawer with practised hands.

“Voilà, there we go!”

She opened it with an inviting gesture and started rummaging in it curiously.

“Letters?”, she skimmed through a pile of postmarked envelopes, “From family members living in Adelaide, by the look of it.”

Phryne put the letters unceremoniously into her handbag.

Jack darted a stern look at her, not entirely sure about the uprightness of her actions. She countered it with an innocent smile and closed the drawer.

“See? No harm done.”

“That's still for me to judge, Miss Fisher. I think we've seen all we can here for now.”, he stood up from his squatting position and headed for the door.

Phryne jumped up and followed him close on his heels.

* * * *

They stepped out onto a balcony. The morning air was a pleasant change to Lady Marshall's perfumed living room. Phryne opened the silver handbag dangling from her arm and put on her sun glasses.

“Well?”, Jack asked, leaning casually on the balustrade.

Having solved numerous cases with him, she knew immediately what he was referring to. For a brief moment she wondered if she should feel flattered that he asked her opinion first.

“Apparently, Aunt P's gossip knowledge, that Lady Marshall is awash in money, turned out to be true. Did you recognise her perfume?”

He cast a quizzical look at her.

“ _Arpège_ … if I'm not mistaken. You wouldn't find that in the average beauty shop, Jack!”

“Ah …”, he nodded vaguely.

Phryne inclined her head and looked at him over the frame of her sun glasses. It took him a few seconds to realise that she was teasing him.

“Alright.”, she rolled her eyes, “Lady Marshall was obviously taken aback when we told her that it was Rose who robbed the safe last night. It wouldn't surprise me if a member of high society actually failed to notice her servant girl going rogue. Lady Marshall wouldn't be the first one. Suppose there was some friction between Rose and Lady Marshall's travelling companion Anthony Drake it seems worth having a chat with him.”

“I agree. What about Lady Marshall's alibi?”, Jack asked soberly.

“We'll have to check her statements with the staff who were on duty last night. But if she didn't encounter anyone except for Mr Winter after she had left the ballroom and stayed in her suite all night this might confirm her account of last night events.”

“How's that?”

Jack knitted his brows.

“The entrance hall was completely deserted when I found Mr Winter. The blow to his head was very heavy, so I guess he was unconscious for more than just a couple of minutes. And yet nobody noticed him lying on the floor. I didn't meet anyone when I went to check the safe.”, she explained lively.

“This only suggests that the ground floor was deserted after Rose had already robbed the safe and presumably shortly after she was pushed down the staircase. But Lady Marshall left for the second floor of the west wing one hour earlier.”, Jack interposed sceptically, wondering what Phryne was getting at.

“Precisely! It means the staff on duty were either at the party – but I only spotted some waiters there – or they were busy with servicing the hotel rooms on the upper floors at the time in question. In the second event, it's unlikely that Lady Marshall wouldn't have been seen by someone should she have left her room to get to a lower floor on the other side of the hotel later in the evening. Most of the people here would recognise her a mile off … Which puts even more suspicion on the hotel staff.”

It gradually dawned on him what Phryne was trying to say.

“I believe, for once in a murder investigation not having an alibi provides the actual alibi.”, she concluded.

There was an brief pause.

“You do realise you just set a precedent, Miss Fisher?”, Jack remarked in silent admiration.

“May I take that as a compliment?”, Phryne asked playfully with arms akimbo.

Suddenly, he found himself at a loss how to answer this question.

“Alright. I think it's time to take it up with Mr Drake.”, he suggested instead and opened the glass door to the corridor.

When they entered the corridor a door burst open. A tall man wearing a blue pin-striped suit, his blonde hair combed back, stepped out of his hotel room. He turned towards them.

“Is it true? Did you interrogate Lady Marshall without having compelling reasons to do so?”

“Anthony Drake, I assume? Pleased to meet you.”, – he towered over Phryne, but she wouldn't be intimidated, and much less with Jack at her side – “We were just about to pay you a visit. Thanks for saving us the trouble.”

She reached out one hand invitingly.

Mr Drake didn't return the gesture. For a second she had a hunch that she had seen him before.

“I'm Detective Inspector Jack Robinson.”, Jack began, “We did speak to Lady Marshall, Mr Drake. A mere formality –”

“I've been telling Elisabeth for weeks that she couldn't trust that girl. I knew something like this was bound to happen sooner or later –“

“ _However_ ,”, Jack cast a withering look at him, “during our conversation certain details came to light. We'd appreciate it if you could give us a more detailed account on your relationship with Miss Hamilton. Down at the station, if you please.”


	4. Missing Evidence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for some teamwork. Luckily, Phryne has a set of eager accomplices.  
> I hope you'll enjoy embarrassed Hugh and slightly grumpy Jack in the end of this chapter 😁

They had taken Mr Drake to the interview room of the _City South Police Station_.

Phryne was sitting on a rather uncomfortable chair opposite Mr Drake, a plain desk between them – it didn't bother her, she knew his chair was much more uncomfortable. Jack was leaning against the white protruding moulding that bordered the room. As recently as one year ago things would have been the other way round.

“So, what is this all about? By what right did you question Lady Marshall this morning?”, Mr Drake asked impatiently.

“By my right.”

A shadow fell onto Jack's face when drifting clouds outside darkened the room for a moment.

“You're not a lawyer by any chance, are you, Mr Drake?”, Phryne continued.

“No, but I have my connections.”

“Then you'd better leave the law to me and answer our questions, Mr Drake.”, Jack cut him short.

Years of experience in the police force had taught him how to deal with all sorts of people at his station.

“Lady Marshall told us you didn't always get on with her servant girl Rose Hamilton. What can you tell us about that?”

“She was devious.”

“Well, that's a rather vague term, Mr Drake. Perhaps you could specify your description?”, Phryne suggested cutesy.

Mr Drake leant back in his chair in a blasé way.

“It was her quiet nature. You should have seen her following all of Elisabeth's orders without asking questions, never complaining about anything. I suspect she had some dark secrets of her own.”

“What makes you think so?”

Jack had put on a sceptical expression.

“If you were familiar with our kind, Officer, you'd know it's the reticent ones you should beware of.”, Mr Drake wagged his finger arrogantly at Jack, then he cast a conspiratorial smile at Phryne, “You can see that, Miss Fisher, can't you?”

“I thought discretion was a virtue in your circles.”, she replied cynically, pointedly distancing herself from Mr Drake's snobbery.

“That depends on what she was being reticent about, doesn't it?”

“Such as?”, Jack asked sternly.

“She wouldn't be the first lady's maid trying to take advantage of her position to discredit high society. Only Elisabeth wouldn't see that. I never understood why she employed Miss Hamilton and why she would cling to her.”

"Why would Rose have wanted to discredit Lady Marshall? Is there a matter that could inconvenience her?”, Phryne asked curiously.

“Certainly not! But there are a lot of idiots who would turn the slightest bad word about Elisabeth into a rumour, however far-fetched it may be.”

Mr Drake looked at them indignantly.

“Hm.”, Jack pursed his lips, “Lady Marshall seemed rather shocked that Rose Hamilton tried to rob the hotel safe last night. Have you seen her stealing anything before?”

“No, but she had been behaving very secretively of late. I suspect she had been planning that robbery for weeks.”

“Like what?”, Jack asked frowning and straightened up.

“Having early nights, keeping a close watch on her private letters. If you ask me, ... she was scheming.”

Perhaps Rose Hamilton had kept her bedside table locked for a reason after all, Phryne thought for a moment.

“Mr Drake, do you have any idea why she would make off without handing in notice if the robbery was premeditated by her?”

Mr Drake shrugged his shoulders casually.

“How am I supposed to know? I guess she got tired of her job and wanted to leave, thereby causing a scandal that was sure to sully Elisabeth's reputation.”

There was little point getting Mr Drake to explain his gridlocked opinion of the murder victim in more detail, Phryne thought to herself.

“Where were you on Sunday between ten and eleven o'clock, Mr Drake?”

As though Jack had read Phryne's mind, he changed the subject.

“Me?”, Mr Drake huffed grinning, “Is this a joke? Do you really think I would push that crazed girl down a staircase to prevent a hotel robbery? There's always a certain reputation I have to uphold.”

There was a brief pause.

“Where were you?”, Jack repeated stony-faced.

“What do you think? I was at the ball. I'm always happy to support such worthy causes.”

He looked at them incredulously.

“Is there anyone who can verify that?”, Phryne asked coolly.

“Sure!”, he made a sweeping gesture, “Lady Marshall left earlier because she felt a bit faint. After that I joined some very enlightening conversations with a couple of other guests.”

The deep furrow in Jack's brow alone indicated that he wouldn't just take Mr Drake's word for it.

“Alright, alright!”, Mr Drake sighed irritatedly, “I had a very refreshing chat with Mrs Helena Shaw, the Walkers of course and some elderly Mrs Stan-whatsit, who had organised that ball.”

Now Phryne realised why Mr Drake looked familiar to her. She had seen him talking to Aunt P shortly before she had spotted Mr Winter lying unconscious behind the reception desk.

She had to try hard not to show her disappointment, but managed to resist the urge to cast a brief glance at Jack that could give her away.

“Mr Drake, did you see Rose at the ball sometime in the course of the evening?”, she asked instead.

“No! I already told you I had got better things to do than playing nursemaid to a wretched lady's maid. Can I go now?”

He folded his arms and gave Jack an annoyed look.

“Of course. Thank you for your characterisation of Miss Hamilton, Mr Drake. You can go for now, but we may have to speak with you again. So please don't leave the town until our investigation is closed.”

Jack was showing remarkable self-restraint in this questioning, Phryne thought to herself.

* * * *

“Now, I suppose this was a waste of time, Jack.”, Phryne sighed after they had entered Jack's office through the side door.

“Why do you think so?”, Jack asked, offering her the chair opposite his desk with an inviting gesture.

He leant casually against one corner of his desk before she even got the chance to claim this place for herself.

“It seems this is the first time I can confirm a suspect's alibi. Mr Drake was deep in conversation with Aunt P when I left the ballroom. I saw them myself. Besides, I'd say mistrust of a friend's servant girl is a very rare motive to push her down a staircase.”

“Hm, I see.”, Jack nodded.

“What do you make of Mr Drake's portrayal of our victim?”, Phryne asked curiously.

“Casting aspersions on the murder victim isn't exactly a beeline to put yourself in the clear.”, he replied drily, “So he may have a point here. Miss Hamilton was prepared to injure a member of the hotel staff to go through with the safe robbery, after all. Lady Marshall strikes me as the cold personality who would never speak out of turn and I'd hate to force it out of her.”

“I agree. And judging by Rose's stout physique I'd consider her quite capable of such an act.”

They heard a soft knock at the door frame to Jack's office. Hugh had returned from the hotel.

“Ah, Collins! How did it go with the hotel staff?”

Jack had stood up.

“Things look rather black at the moment, sir. None of the staff could recall seeing Miss Hamilton last night with certainty. And if they saw each other at all it only happened in passing.”, Hugh explained, sounding rather disappointed.

“Doesn't sound like much of an alibi for them.”

“No, sir.”

“Which brings the entire hotel under suspicion.”, Phryne commented cynically.

“But, … one staff member told me that the hotel's set of keys for the first floor of the east wing went missing two days ago –”

“Oh, really?”, Phryne interjected.

“And he didn't report this?”

Jack was equally surprised at this observation.

“No, … because it turned up again just a few hours later. The valet assumed one of his colleagues had mislaid it by accident.”, Hugh read aloud from the small notebook in his hands.

“Did anyone of them notice if our victim has attracted negative attention in some way before, Collins?”, Jack asked rubbing his chin.

“Huh?”

He had been absorbed in his notebook.

“Say … blaring out that she was planning to rob a safe?”, Phryne suggested dramatically.

Jack cleared his throat witheringly and cast an irritated glance at her.

“I was just specifying your question, Inspector!”, she explained cutesy.

“Er, … no, Miss … ahem, sir.”

Hugh felt conflicted which question he was supposed to answer.

“Good work, Collins!”, Jack said quickly before Phryne would come up with another comment that could confuse his constable.

“Thank you, sir!”, Hugh smiled.

“Did you ask the hotelier to inform the guests that we need them to report their valuables that were kept in the safe?”

“Yes, sir. But he said that the reports will probably come in only gradually because they couldn't reach all hotel guests this morning.”

“No surprise is there.”, Phryne thought aloud.

“Um, we can hardly ask the hotel to ring the police station each time they have received representative reports.”, Jack remarked pensively.

“I know!”, Phryne interjected, “The hotel will report to Mr Butler every now and then and Hugh and Dot will examine the valuables at my place. A casual chat among colleagues. Last I heard, high society feels more comfortable dealing with their own than feeling obliged to cooperate with the police force –”

“With you being the sole exception?”, Jack asked wryly.

“Did I ever say I felt obliged to cooperate with the police force, Jack?”, Phryne countered.

“And yet you're sitting on this chair … of your own free will, as it seems.”

“As far as I can remember you never asked me to sit on this chair. In fact, you didn't ask me at all.”

She folded her arms and cast a stiltedly defiant look at him.

“Ahem, … back to Miss Hamilton, please!”, Hugh interrupted them tentatively.

They spun around.

“What do you want me to do, sir?”

“You'll go through the valuables with Miss Williams at Miss Fisher's residence –”

“– And I suggest, we pay a visit to Mac at the morgue, Jack. Perhaps she can tell us more about the victim.”, Phryne chimed in.

“All right.”, Jack nodded.

At times he had the impression he was easily led by her enthusiasm. Perhaps a tad too easily if he was being honest with himself.

* * * *

“Lovely, isn't it, Dorothy?”

Mr Butler put down the refilled _Countess crockery_ tea tray on the dining table. Dot was swaying a diamond ring back and forth, admiring the rainbow-coloured flecks of light it cast at the lilac wallpaper in the dining room.

They had assigned tasks. Mr Butler was reading the valuables that had been reported so far to Dot and Hugh. Then they started searching for the respective items in the two boxes lying in front of them – the larger one containing the valuables that had been found in the bag at the crime scene, the smaller one containing the valuables that had been left behind in the safe. Naturally, Dot was in charge of the former. Each time they had identified an item Mr Butler noted down the place it had been found.

Dot had just spotted the red-gold circlet they had been searching for the last few minutes.

“Next?”, she asked eagerly.

“One ' _silver sapphire-studded necklace_ ' reported by a Mrs Helena Shaw.”, Mr Butler read aloud.

“In all this glittering?!”, Hugh exclaimed slightly exhausted, “I'm glad I only had to find a ring for you, Dottie, and not one of these … circle things –”

“Circlets, Hugh! Me too. Otherwise you'd have probably never even proposed to me.”, she smiled cheekily.

He suddenly found himself at a loss for words. Mr Butler tried to hide a smile at the sight of Hugh's perplexed expression.

Then the telephone rang from the hallway.

Hugh was rather relieved when Mr Butler left the dining room to answer it.

* * * *

“Well, did our dead woman talk overnight, Mac?”, Phryne asked her old friend as she swung open the door to the morgue.

“Not that I'm aware of. I examined her only this morning. But I can ask my night nurse if it helps your investigations.”, Dr Elizabeth MacMillan reacted to Phryne's morbid joke.

At times Jack wished back her predecessor, Dr Johnson, who had had little time for such ramblings.

“That won't be necessary, thank you, Dr MacMillan.”, Jack interrupted them quickly, hanging his hat and coat on the hat stand, “Now, what can you tell us about her?”

He had put on a matter-of-fact tone of voice to remind them of the seriousness of the situation.

Mac reached for the report on the side table and started reading aloud.

“First of all, your servant girl died of a broken neck, which is hardly surprising. Time of death, approximately between eleven o'clock and half past eleven.”

Jack gave her a brief nod.

“Mr Winter was knocked down at about the same time. As he didn't put up a fight the robbery must have happened shortly afterwards. Miss Hamilton didn't make it out of the hotel, so we can assume that one event followed the other.”

“Very likely. But she has definitely been involved in a struggle before her death …” – Phryne cast a what-did-I-tell-you glance at Jack – “See the scratch marks on her left upper arm, Inspector? There are also slight bruises on her right arm, which means the attacker was clutching her with one hand when she tried to twist herself free from them. Your murdered girl was quite the amazon.”

“Would the attacker have sustained any injuries too?”, Phryne asked curiously, bending over the body.

“She definitely tried to defend herself. The tips of her gloves are partially torn. Here!”, Mac held out a light blue glove to Phryne, “But, as she was wearing these gloves, it's rather unlikely that the attacker has inflicted scratch marks as well. Especially if they were wearing a suit or a coat.”

“Can you tell us if she had to fight off one attacker or more?”, Jack asked soberly, trying to picture the sequence of events.

“I can't say with certainty, but judging from the extend of her injuries I'd say she was struggling with only one person.”

“Thank you, Mac! This really narrows it down, given that at this point the entire hotel is under suspicion.”, Phryne replied cynically.

The telephone rang from the adjacent room. Mac answered the call.

“It's Dot! She's asking for you.”

She handed Phryne the receiver.

“Dot?”

“Miss! I think we found something.”

* * * *

When Phryne and Jack had arrived at her home Dot was already waiting for them in the dining room, her cheeks reddened with excitement.

“What is it, Dot?”

“Well, Hugh, Mr Butler and I were examining the valuables, like you told us to. Now it turned out that some of the items that were reported today are neither among the valuables from the safe nor among the ones you found at the crime scene.”

“Really?”, Phryne asked amazed and picked the list they had prepared up from the dining table.

“Are you sure, Collins?”, Jack asked again after he had eyed the two boxes, containing dozens of valuables.

“Yes, sir.”

“What does it mean, Miss?”

Dot looked at her employer in eager anticipation.

“Well, it could be that we missed something last night when examining the scene, which is quite possible, given the bad lighting … or someone stole the items in question before the body was found, which could offer an altogether different sequence of events.”

“Do you think Miss Hamilton could have had an accomplice?”, Dot asked quickly.

“Perhaps …”

“Collins, do any testimonies in your notebook point to such a sequence of events?”, Jack joined their conjectures.

Hugh skimmed through the notes he had taken down in the morning.

“No, sir. None of them could recall seeing someone near the hallway where the deed happened at the time in question.”

“The staff of the _Riverside Hotel_ definitely need to train their powers of observation.”, Phryne remarked slightly disillusioned.

“I suggest we examine the crime scene once more, Collins.”, Jack cast a brief look at Hugh, then he turned towards Dot, “Do you have a detailed description of the missing valuables, Miss Williams?”

“Yes …”

Dot handed him a second list on which she had noted down the missing items.

“Well done, Dot!”, Phryne smiled at her companion, “Mr B? The hotelier is still reporting to you, I take it?”

“Yes, Miss!”, Mr Butler assured her.

“Great! You two better keep checking those boxes, see if other valuables have gone missing as well.”

“If you find out more, please let me know about it. You'll find me at the station.”, Jack chimed in, “Collins, you'll examine the scene on your own.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And what about you, Miss?”, Dot asked politely.

All heads turned towards Phryne.

“Oh, I think I'll head back to the hotel and go through Rose's letters we found in her bedside table.” – Jack knitted his brows at the term _found_ – “They might tell us more about her true nature … Perhaps a drink afterwards.”, Phryne explained cutesy.

* * * *

Jack was skimming through the list that represented the items from the victim's travelling bag they had been able to identify so far, trying to figure out if the valuables or the respective owners shared any common features, when Hugh blundered into his office.

“Sir!”

“Anything the matter, Collins? Did you find our missing valuables at the crime scene?”, he asked, looking up from the list in his hands.

“Not exactly. I wanted to reach Miss Fisher first, but she didn't answer the door.”

Jack cast a quizzical look at his constable.

_First?_

“Er … I, … because her room was nearest …”

“Nearer than the next telephone box, you mean?”, he sounded stern now, “You do know Miss Fisher's hotel suite is not an outpost of the _Victoria Police_ _Force_ , Collins?”

“Yes, sir.”, Hugh nodded slightly embarrassed, avoiding his boss' piercing glance.

“Now, why did you want to reach her?”

“Ahem, … because I found this.”

Hugh placed a small navy blue handbag on Jack's desk.

“Could that be our victim's handbag, sir? The dress she was wearing is a similar colour, isn't it?”, he asked tentatively.

Jack stood up from his chair and leant over the desk, eyeing the handbag more closely.

“Could be.”, he looked up eagerly, “Where did you find this?”

“It was behind a velvet curtain near the staircase she fell down.”

Jack picked it up carefully.

“Um, feels as if something is in there. Have you opened it yet?”

“No, sir. I didn't have my gloves with me.”

Hugh pointed at the shiny metal clasps at the top of the bag.

Jack quickly opened the desk drawer where he kept his black gloves and slipped them on. He undid the clasps and an embroidery in the lining reading _R. Hamilton_ became visible.

He cast a meaningful look at his constable.

When he turned the handbag slowly upside down a pocket mirror, a handkerchief and a men's wristwatch fell out of it and landed on the red leather desk pad.

The two of them exchanged staggered glances.

“Another stolen item from the safe, sir?”, Hugh suggested.

“No, … given that some valuables were still left in the safe we can assume that Miss Hamilton was in a hurry. I doubt she had the time to put this particular item into her handbag during the affair. It was placed there earlier. And if the items fell out of her travelling bag when she was pushed down the stairs, this bag here would have landed next to her as well. She must have dropped it before … when she was trying to fight off the attacker.”, Jack thought aloud, rubbing his chin.

“Then how did the watch end up in Miss Hamilton's handbag?”

Hugh cast a bewildered glance at his boss.

“That's the question, Collins. And why was she carrying a men's watch with her in the first place? Has the hotel reported this item so far?”

Hugh checked his notebook.

“Er … no, sir. Perhaps they couldn't reach the owner yet.”

“And you didn't find any of the missing items at the crime scene?”, Jack asked pensively.

“No, sir.”

“So someone removed them before our victim was found. If the hotel staff didn't spot anyone near that hallway, as your notes would suggest, it's unlikely that the second person passed the scene just like that and helped themselves to the valuables after the fact. They must have been with our victim all along. This strongly suggests that Miss Hamilton had an accomplice.”

“So Dottie's hunch was right?”, Hugh burst out, seemingly proud of his fiancée's cleverness.

“Seems that way.”, Jack affirmed unperturbed (much to Hugh's disappointment), “Now, we're dealing with a complicity. Suppose the murder was the result of some kind of falling-out … how did they get away without being noticed?”

“The hotel car park is within walking distance from the staircase our victim was found, sir.”

“Humph, fortune favours the brave.”, Jack muttered resignedly, tilting his head, “There's clearly some connection between the owner of that watch and our victim. I'd better drive to the hotel, ask if a member of staff can assign this item to a hotel guest.”

Jack took his coat off the hat stand.

“Well done, Collins!”, he clapped his constable on the shoulder.

“And we should have the lab test the bag for fingerprints.”, he added as he turned to go.

“I'll see to it, sir.”, Hugh offered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you LadySparre, who helped me structure this chapter 😘


	5. Guard Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new lead and a convivial date. Jack is not the only one who is facing a tough evening ...

As was common practice among high society, and judging by the hotel staff's courteous manners they considered Phryne as a member of said class, she had retired to her hotel suite to see to some rather personal correspondences. The thing that wasn't like high society was the matter of the letters' place of origin – the drawer of a dead woman's bedside table.

Much to her disappointment the letters had turned out to be harmless words about the well-being of seemingly ordinary relatives. A lineament Phryne almost envied the victim for, considering her mother's latest telegram, in which she had asked Aunt Prudence for financial support. The thought that her father had nearly lost a whopping £10,000 he had been supposed to wire to her mother made her grit her teeth. In just a few days she could finally freight her father on a steamer back to England. She sighed heavily and reached for the room telephone to order a fortifying drink.

As they had to wait for the outcome of Dot and Hugh's inspections of the safe contents anyway, Phryne decided to take a long bath to pass the time.

After Jack had sent word that he would meet her in the afternoon, she had made up her mind on how to dress according to the social environment she was currently dealing with. Thanks to Dot she had regained track of her wardrobe. She had eventually opted for the glossy, light cream dress she had once worn during her stay in Queenscliff last summer. Perhaps a bit overdone as a day dress, she thought when looking at herself in the huge mirror, but probably just fitting for high society.

* * * *

Phryne and Jack had sat down in a restaurant booth at the _Riverside Hotel_. Jack was filling her in on the latest developments of their case.

“Constable Collins and Miss Williams managed to prepare a list of the stolen items from the safe. It doesn't look like Miss Hamilton had someone in particular in mind when robbing the safe. They found Lady Marshall's valuables with the other items that had been left behind. –”

“Well, this might be some consolation to her. Did you check her statements with Mr Winter?”, Phryne interrupted him curiously.

“Er, yes. He did wish her a good night. You were right. Showing courtesy to the stupidly wealthy, but failing to pay attention to a determined safe robber seems to be part of the job here.”, Jack said drily.

Phryne rolled her eyes jokingly at his sarcastic remark.

“What I meant to say, Collins didn't find any of the missing valuables at the crime scene, which strongly suggests we're dealing with a complicity. However, he found the victim's handbag nearby. Oddly enough, it had a men's wristwatch in it. The watch hasn't been reported so far, but I spoke to the hotel staff and one of them identified it as property of a ' _Mr Riley Thompson_ '. So I checked with the hotelier – Mr Thompson is staying in a hotel room just a few steps from the staircase where the deed happened.”

Jack's report staggered her and her eyes widened.

“Indeed? I met him at the charity ball.”, Phryne decided to have some fun with Jack, “Riley really was quite charming –”

“– Riley?”

“... And he didn't report his watch missing, you say? That's strange. He didn't seem the forgetful type. Either he doesn't care that much about his valuables or he didn't report it on purpose. Have you already spoken to him?”, she asked eagerly.

“Er … no. The hotelier told me he was out of town this morning and wouldn't return before late afternoon.”

Jack had composed himself more quickly than she had expected; she had to give him that. But she hadn't yet finished with him.

There was an odd link between the murdered girl and one hotel guest in particular. Given that she had already met Mr Thompson once and considering that well-off gentlemen weren't known to volunteer for an official police questioning that easily, she was left with but one option.

“Perhaps I should have a word with Riley alone tonight.”, Phryne thought aloud.

“Alone?”

She had to suppress a smirk at Jack's befuddlement.

“Don't sulk, Jack! I'm sure you'll have enough time to pester Riley at the station if it turns out that he's involved in any of this. Besides, you should actually feel flattered!”, she replied effusively.

“How come, Miss Fisher?”, he asked slightly frowning.

“I'm lending you a helping hand to do so. Although ... I could do with a guard dog.”

“A what?”

Phryne was obviously thinking too fast for him now and she enjoyed it to the full.

“Well, I'm sure you won't have that much difficulties to impersonate a well-to-do hotel guest. All we need is to find you a table next to mine.”, she explained casually.

Jack looked at her in bewilderment.

“Which suggests you already reserved one for you and Mr …?”

“Don't be absurd, Jack! Have you ever seen me planning ahead having supper with a man _in absentia_? I may have mastered some arts of affecting men to my own advantage, however telepathy is not among them.”

“No, but …”

Judging from the puzzlement on his face, she felt it was time to put him out of his misery. Of course she wanted him close to her when scrutinising a suspect she had met only once.

“See? That's why I can do with a guard dog tonight.”

Her message gradually dawned on Jack and he felt his face relax.

“However, you may only sit in on our supper on one condition.”, she added after a moment's consideration.

Slightly worried, Jack wondered what kind of banter he would have to take next.

“I'm all ears, Miss Fisher.”

Her next action perplexed him. She leaned forward and gently tugged at his tie.

“I'll get to choose your tie.”

He exhaled in relief. He had feared far worse.

“Now, if you could give me a description of this watch.”

* * * *

Everything was settled. Phryne had managed to catch Riley Thompson in the lounge – by all looks, one of his favourite spots – in the late afternoon and had asked him to a drink under the pretext she was a damsel in distress, affected by the happenings last night, who could do with a convivial evening to lift her spirits. After a moment's hesitation he had accepted her offer. From the look on his face she could tell that he had felt deeply flattered – hence the hesitation.

She had reserved two tables in the restaurant, telling the waiter that a few friends would join them in the evening. Later she would explain to him that said friends had unfortunately declined her invitation and that he could re-offer one table to the other guests. This, of course, was supposed to be the moment Jack would come into play.

When she had brought forward this plan to Jack on the telephone he hadn't sounded thoroughly convinced; meaning, he had tried to persuade her to summon Mr Thompson to the police station right away. In the end of their conversation she had explained to him that it was already rude to cancel one table at a high-end hotel, but that cancelling two tables in one evening could at worst lead to her eviction, which wasn't exactly the general idea of their venture. With this she had rung off, leaving him wondering what kind of a weird proposition he had just agreed to.

Phryne entered the restaurant at the appointed time and she felt a few glances turning towards her. Strangely enough, an elderly lady seemed quite focused on her for a moment. She had thought about changing into another outfit, but then it had occurred to her that she wasn't staying at the hotel to showcase herself to other men. In fact, she didn't feel like doing so at all.

Subdued jazz music was filling the lounge. Before she sat down at the table she informed one of the waiters that her 'friends' wouldn't make an appearance tonight and that he could re-offer the other table.

To her horror she realised that the waiter she had spoken to earlier had placed a small vase holding a single red rose on the table. For fear Mr Thompson would misinterpret this highly suggestive decoration she quickly disposed of it in a flower bowl near her table when nobody was watching. She stuffed the vase into her black handbag with gold clasps.

When she had just erased all traces Mr Thompson, now wearing a classy tux, approached her with an inviting smile. They sat down with a gentle how-do-you-do handshake.

“I remember you.”, he began to speak, “We met at the ball last Sunday, didn't we?”

“Yes, I believe so.”, Phryne smiled at him, putting on a cheerful face as if _remembering her_ was the most flattering compliment she had ever heard.

“I'm sorry, but I think I didn't catch your name back then.”, he added.

Of course he had caught her name at the ball when Aunt Prudence had introduced her to him, but he obviously didn't know how to start this conversation. She smiled at him.

“Miss Phryne Fisher.”

“That's quite an unusual name, Miss Fisher.”

Admittedly, she had heard more resourceful replies when introducing herself in the past – much more resourceful ones, to be precise. So she chose to adapt herself to Mr Thompson's poor eloquence. It was important not to frighten him off in this early stage of her mission.

“Excuse me, sir, is this table free?”

Phryne recognised the familiar soft voice behind her. She turned around for a second, pretending to move over her chair out of politeness. Jack had kept his word and had donned the blue dotted tie.

“Yes, sir.”, a waiter replied to Jack's question.

Phryne turned to Mr Thompson again.

“People say that. But you may call me Phryne.”, she offered in a flirtatious tone of voice.

“Likewise, … Riley. Pleasure.”

She still felt as if she was talking to a gramophone record featuring a guide on how to socialise. It was high time for a change of subject.

“Alright, Riley. Name your poison!”

“My what?”

She handed Mr Thompson the drinks list with an inviting gesture. Perhaps a hard liquor would loosen his tongue. This strategy had already worked in many cases. When he was absorbed in the list, Phryne dared to turn around for a moment to see how Jack was faring. He had ordered a humble glass of whisky – however barely touched. His face was hard to read. A curious mixture of alertness and annoyance. She cast an encouraging smile at him.

“What will it be, Miss?”, a waiter in a tailcoat addressed her.

“Oh, I think I'll have a _Martini_ tonight.”, she decided quickly.

“Alright. And you, sir?”.

He turned towards Mr Thompson.

“A glass of sherry, please.”

So much for getting him drunk, Phryne thought to herself.

A few minutes later the waiter served their drinks.

They had put another record on – _Gene Austin_.

_Ain't she sweet?_

_See her coming down that street_

_I ask you confidentially 'ain't she sweet?'_

_Ain't she nice?_

_Look her over once or twice_

_I ask you confidentially 'ain't she nice?' …_

“And you're staying alone at the hotel, Phryne?”, Mr Thompson asked casually after he had put down his drink.

“Oh, yes.”

For some reason Mr Thompson seemed slightly distracted for a moment.

_Just cast an eye in her direction_

_Oh me, oh my, ain't that perfection_

_I repeat,_

_Don't you think that's kind of neat?_

_I ask you confidentially 'ain't she sweet?'_

“Then, it seems, we have something in common.”, he concluded, raising his glass.

Phryne smiled at him.

“I like the sound of that.”

Mr Thompson startled at a clanking noise.

Jack had put his glass down on the glass-topped table rather forcefully.

“Do you know that bloke behind you?”, Mr Thompson asked bewildered, nodding towards Jack, “He has been staring at you for quite some time now.”

Phryne turned around, trying to suppress a smirk when she noticed that Jack cast an irritated glance at her.

“Er, … no.”

She shrugged her shoulders and raised the glass to her lips again.

_Tell me where, tell me where_

_have you seen one just like that?_

_I declare, I declare_

_that sure is worth looking at._

_Oh boy, how sweet those lips must be_

_Oh, gaze on her. Doggone it!_

_Answer me …_

* * * *

Mr Butler entered the dining room switching on the shell-shaped wall lamps. It was getting dark outside.

“The hotelier told me this is the last report for today.”

He handed Dot another list showing the valuables the guests of the _Riverside Hotel_ had kept in the safe.

“Hugh, we've got some work to do!”

Dot elbowed Hugh, who had dozed off in the meantime after Mr Butler had left them to answer the telephone.

“Wha–!”

He blinked drowsily and his right arm, which had steadied his head up to now, slid off the table.

“Yes, sir? … err, Dot?”

“Oh, dear!”, Mr Butler sighed, “I'll see if I can find something that will pep him up, Dorothy.”

And so he headed for the kitchen.

By the look of it, there was little point in encouraging Hugh's assistance without Mr Butler's help so Dot decided to start checking the new list on her own.

When skimming through the list she noticed – with some relief – that she had already spotted some of the mentioned items from the safe in the two boxes during their previous inspections. Some of the valuables were that striking that she could tell if they had been found at the crime scene or had been left in the safe by heart by now. She quickly noted down the respective places. Consequently, she immediately realised that in some cases the reported items weren't in either of the two boxes. There were only a handful of valuables on their latest list she couldn't identify straight away. So there was still some work to do.

Mr Butler returned from the kitchen carrying a tray of drinks.

“Wake up, Hugh!”

She softly shook his shoulder.

“Mm-hmm …”

He yawned and sat up.

As Mr Butler laid the tray down on the table Dot could see two cups of coffee, but they smelled slightly pungent.

“Your medicine, Constable.”, Mr Butler explained politely and passed him one of the cups.

He handed Dot the other one.

“What's that stuff?”, Hugh asked bewildered.

The peculiar smell gradually brought him back to this world.

“Coffee … with a dash of brandy. It should do the trick.”

There was an awkward pause.

“Oh, … thank you, Mr Butler.”, Dot replied in Hugh's place.

He had never been offered any kind of alcoholic drink if being on duty before. Then again, his boss wasn't present and he wasn't entirely sure if he was still on duty anyway.

From the bewilderment on his face Dot could tell exactly what Hugh was thinking. He clearly needed a demonstration that he wasn't offered something toxic in this household, she thought to herself. She eyed the dark tonic sceptically, then emptied the cup in a couple of gulps.

“Dottie!”, Hugh exclaimed perplexed.

Suddenly, he felt wide awake.

His puzzlement at Dot's sudden boldness seemed to be more effective than Mr Butler's actual treatment. She couldn't hide the smirk flitting across her face so she reached for the list of the reported items again. Her plan had worked out.

“Look at this, Hugh!”, Dot pointed at the list in her hand, “One of the hotel guests has reported a bronze horse racing trophy. And an original edition of Darwin's _Origin of Species_ , dating back to 1859, was among the safe contents as well.”

“Really?”, Mr Butler interposed with surprise.

They two of them spun around.

“I heard it's quite a tome. Dr MacMillan had offered to lend me her copy when Miss Fisher had asked me to identify that duck feather a few weeks ago.”, he explained as he was putting a couple of crystal glasses back into the large mahogany cabinet, a polishing cloth dangling from his arm.

Hugh eventually mustered the courage to take a sip of his coffee.

“Um, what's so special about them?”

“I can't find these items in either of the two boxes. And they are much larger than the other valuables we identified so far.”

* * * *

“Have they found your missing valuables yet?”, Mr Thompson asked eventually.

Phryne had been waiting for him to address this matter all evening. Her next actions would need to be thoroughly convincing. She couldn't afford to make any mistakes now.

“Found?”, she repeated cutesy, “When I reported that wristwatch I was told that the robber didn't even manage to make off with the contents from the safe. So it seems no valuables went actually missing. To tell the truth, Riley, that's why I asked you to a drink in the first place. I had my fiancé's watch in the safe …” – Phryne heard Jack choking over his drink behind her. She had just gone from one extreme to the other – “… Well, the constable looked for it and found a silver wristwatch with black leather straps in a travelling bag along with the other items from the safe. It has a single _T_ , written with a capital letter, on its dial. Unfortunately, it isn't mine, but property of another hotel guest … it's yours, to be precise.”

Mr Thompson looked at her, bewilderment written on his face.

“Oh, my fiancé will be distraught!”, she sighed stiltedly.

“And you're absolutely sure it isn't your watch after all? Because they must be mistaken. I didn't even keep my watch in the safe.”

So his watch had landed in the victim's handbag in another way!, Phryne thought.

“Why, yes! ... And the maid was so certain that she has seen you wearing it before.”

She had put on a disillusioned tone of voice.

“See, Phryne, I'm really sorry for all of that, but I think it's time for me to go now. I have an early meeting tomorrow. Thank you for inviting me to a drink tonight. Perhaps we can meet again another time?”

He turned to go.

“That depends …”

“On what?”, Mr Thompson asked perplexed.

Phryne noticed a chair shifting behind her.

“If we find further incriminating evidence against you.”

She stood up slowly.

“We?”

Mr Thompson looked around hastily.

Jack had stood up.

“What's the hurry, Mr Thompson?”, he asked calmly, but his gaze was piercing.

“Is that your fiancé?”

Mr Thompson turned towards Phryne.

Jack cast a pleading look at her.

“Not exactly, … may I present Detective Inspector Jack Robinson.”

Jack felt relieved that she denied that pretence this time.

It took Mr Thompson a few seconds to make sense of the situation.

“You're with the police?”

“Close.”, Phryne replied slyly.

She opened her handbag and held her business card out to Mr Thompson. His lips were forming the words _lady detective_ in befuddlement.

“We would like to ask you a few questions about the happenings last night, Mr Thompson. If you would please accompany us to the police station.”

Jack was in his element again.

When they left the lounge the elderly lady Phryne had noticed earlier turned towards them looking slightly perplexed. Curiosity was one of many vices high society was known for.

* * * *

“Where were you today before you returned to the hotel, Mr Thompson?”, Phryne asked with arms akimbo.

There was no need to call him by his first name any longer. She and Jack had blown their cover and were now questioning him in the, at night-time, dimly lit interview room. Only Mr Thompson's silver wristwatch lying on the large desk and her glass pearl earrings were glistening in the dark. Jack was resting one arm casually on the back of a chair.

“I drove to my aunt's summer cottage in Daylesford. Imelda Thompson … she's staying at the _Riverside Hotel_ as well. She wanted me to fetch some clothes for her with the weather getting warmer and check if everything is in order. She's very particular about her appearance. Ask her, she'll confirm that.”, Mr Thompson explained calmly.

“We certainly will.”, Jack replied, “Let's move on to more serious matters. Did you know the murdered girl – Rose Hamilton?”

He reached into an inside pocket of his suit and passed him a picture of the dead woman they had taken at the morgue.

Mr Thompson studied it for a moment.

“In passing, … perhaps.”

“And yet she was carrying round your watch.”, Phryne interposed cynically.

“So how do you explain this?”

Jack pointed one finger at the watch without removing his hand from the chair.

“Obviously, she must have stolen it.”

“We found it in a side pocket of her handbag, which suggests that it was placed there earlier and that it wasn't in the safe. You said you didn't keep your watch in the safe. Did you give it to her?”

Jack had put on a stern tone of voice.

“No, I told you, I didn't know that lass!”, Mr Thomson replied insistently.

Phryne pulled up a chair and sat down opposite him – not without smoothing down her glossy, cream dress.

“Why didn't you report it missing? …”

So as not to antagonise him – or scare him off completely, (given that she had already played tricks on him earlier tonight and men weren't known to be forgiving that easily) – she chose a more conciliatory tone. Jack darted a slightly irritated sidelong glance at her, but let her finish.

“… We asked the hotel guests to report their valuables this morning. And according to the hotelier he did inform you about it.”

Mr Thompson shook his head.

“I didn't notice …”

“You didn't think to check on your valuables despite our request?”, Phryne asked sceptically, “That's a rather odd attitude for a well-to-do gentleman like you, Mr Thompson … if you don't mind my saying.”

Jack felt it was time for him to take the reins of this questioning again.

“The staircase where the victim was pushed down is just a few steps from your hotel room.”

“So what?”

Mr Thompson cast a quizzical glance at him.

“Did you notice anything out of the ordinary last night?”

“No, I don't think so.”

“Where were you on Sunday between ten and half past eleven?”, Phryne chimed in.

She had just remembered that Mr Thompson had been rather curt with her and Aunt P when they had met at the ball.

“In the lounge, having a drink. Ask the waiter, he'll tell you.”

“Well, I guess the waiter served more than just _one_ drink that night! It's unlikely he will remember when exactly he served you that drink.”

Phryne's remarks had a more and more scornful undertone.

“Is there anyone else who can verify that, Mr Thompson?”, Jack asked composedly.

He felt that this conversation was gradually getting out of hand.

“My aunt. She was with me at the party.”

“How convenient … that your aunt can confirm all of your actions. You didn't strike me as a man who is tied to someone's apron strings.”, Phryne replied sarcastically.

Jack cleared his throat cautiously.

Much as he liked seeing Phryne putting Mr Thompson through the mill – it was an unfamiliar, strangely gloating feeling –, he wasn't sure if he could justify questioning him any further before checking his statements firsthand.

Phryne knew Jack's subtle manner of conveying things by now, so she could see why he was putting a stop to her baiting questions. She lowered her eyes and bit her lip vaguely.

“Alright, Mr Thompson, you can go for now. But we might have to speak to you again. In the meantime, please don't leave the town.”

They showed him out.

“We'll check his statements first thing in the morning.”, Jack knitted his brows pensively and leant against the large counter in the reception area, one fist akimbo.

“Gladly!”, Phryne smiled at him broadly.

Considering that the station was completely deserted by now she knew that the use of _we_ was including her as a given.

“See you!”, she headed for the door, then turned around again, “By the way, you did a great job impersonating a guard dog, Jack. At times I thought you would snarl at Mr Thompson any second.”, she teased him.

Phryne was bewildered when Jack started smiling at her cynical remark.

“I should still charge you with hotel property theft.”

He pursed his lips, tilting his head casually.

“How's that?”

“Well, if I'm not mistaken you're still carrying that vase in your handbag.”, he raised an eyebrow, “Now, if it would turn out to be a real crystal vase, you should return it as soon as possible before the hotel reports other items have gone missing as well.”

“How do you know that?”, Phryne asked in a high-pitched tone of voice.

She felt her cheeks blushing.

“I guess constant vigilance is one important character trait of a guard dog, Miss Fisher.”

He smirked wryly at the sight of the abashed look on her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song 'Ain't she sweet' by Gene Austin I'm quoting in this chapter is my favourite 1920s song. Feel free to listen to it on Youtube 🙂


	6. Treasures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last night raised a lot of questions. But how to get the answers they are looking for?

As they would need to catch up on Dot and Mr Butler's findings, which items from the safe were actually missing, anyway, Phryne had invited Jack over to her place for the next morning to discuss Mr Thompson's statements.

It had been well past midnight when she had left the station so she had decided to spend the night at _Wardlow_ instead of returning to the hotel at such a late hour.

Phryne was just combing her black, silky hair when she heard a soft knock at the bedroom door.

“The Inspector is downstairs, Miss.”, Mr Butler informed her politely.

“Thank you, Mr B. Tell him I won't be long!”, she replied cheerfully.

She put her brush down onto the dressing table and caught sight of the cream dress she had worn last night hanging from the oriental screen in the mirror. To stick to the colour she opted for white trousers, white top and the white semi-transparent coat with black and gold velour appliqués.

By the time Phryne entered the parlour tea, drop scones and sandwiches were already laid on. Jack had seated himself on the small sofa and was just studying the list of the missing items Dot and Hugh had prepared for them.

“Morning, Jack!”, she greeted him, slightly out of breath.

He looked up from the list in his hands and checked his watch with a playful smirk.

“Um, I hope I didn't bundle you out of bed. It's not like you to be late.”

“No, no.”, she replied cutesy, “Besides, that would be quite a feat! Most men fail miserably in trying.”

“Ah.”, he nodded vaguely.

She had to suppress a smile at the sight of his flustered expression.

“Oh, I see Mr Butler ensured that we won't have to work on an empty stomach!”

She bent down to the octagonal coffee table and eagerly helped herself to a drop scone.

“Mmm. Surely, you have to admit that my parlour has its assets, Jack.”, she said teasingly as she slowly sat down next to him.

For a second he wondered what exactly was her idea of the _assets_ of her parlour.

The parlour door opened.

“Sorry, Miss, … Inspector, … I just wanted to let you know that I'll be upstairs doing some ironing and Mr Butler is outside pruning the roses … in case you have any more questions for us.”, Dot explained.

Clearing his throat, Jack couldn't help moving over a bit.

Phryne quickly calculated the number of rooms in this house and how long it would take her to search Dot out if she would need to ask her something – not that long, by the look of it.

“Thank you, Dot! I think we'll be fine from here.”, she beamed at her companion.

There was an awkward pause.

“Oh, alright!”, Dot replied eventually, smiling sheepishly as she left the room.

“Where were we? Ah, here you are.”, Phryne reached for a plate laden with a tempting sandwich on the table and passed it to Jack.

He gave her a quizzical look.

“Don't tell me you lost your liking for those sandwiches! I gave Mr Butler very precise instructions.”, she blinked at him.

“Ah, I see.”

He accepted her offer reluctantly and took a few bites of the sandwich.

“Um. What do you make of Mr Thompson's statements last night?”, he asked after he had put the plate down on the coffee table.

Once again he asked her opinion first.

“Well, he seemed rather adamant that he didn't know Rose. He told us he had no idea how his watch ended up in her handbag and that it must have been stolen. Perhaps it really _was_ stolen. Just … earlier.”, Phryne replied pensively.

“Ah, now you think he was telling the truth?”

It was not so much a question as a resigned assessment on Jack's part. For a brief moment he wondered whether last night's feigned date had had some effect on her suddenly conciliatory attitude towards Mr Thompson after all.

“I'm merely trying to make sense of his statements, Jack!”, Phryne had read his mind without difficulties, “According to Hugh's notes yesterday the keys for the first floor went missing for a couple of hours three days ago. We know that Rose was a bit of a tricky character. It's quite possible that she was the one who stole the keys that day. She could have gained access to Mr Thompson's hotel room this way!”

Jack blinked.

At times he had the faint impression her cleverness was undermining his position.

“So, … assuming we're dealing with another robbery,”, he eventually took her suggestion into consideration, “why would our victim break into a hotel room that far away from her own one?”

Phryne paused and thought for a moment.

“Lady Marshall didn't exactly make a secret of where she's staying. There are prying neighbours all over the second floor of the west wing. Clearly, they would have noticed a break-in in no time.”, she replied.

“Alright, but if Mr Thompson was asked to check on his valuables after he had returned to the hotel, why didn't he report his wristwatch missing? I'm having difficulty believing that he didn't notice it had gone.”

“Me too … Maybe there's something special about this watch that made him keep its disappearance a secret. Do you have it with you?”, Phryne asked eagerly.

“Er, yes.”

Jack reached into an inside pocket of his suit and passed it to her.

She slowly turned the wristwatch over in the palms of her hands. Then a thought crossed her mind.

“Aunt P said Mr Thompson trades in branded goods from the Continent. I'd wager that many European watches which are reeled in here originate in Switzerland. The simple _T_ written on the dial … does this logo mean anything to you?”

Jack leant forward to eye the watch more closely.

“It's not exactly telling …”, he inferred from his rather limited knowledge of watch-making.

“Not as telling as you would usually expect from renowned brands.”, Phryne finished his train of thought, “Maybe there's something fishy going on in his line of business.”

“You mean Mr Thompson is importing counterfeit products?”

Jack knitted his brows quizzically.

“Doesn't have to be black marketeering! But perhaps I should send out a couple of trained informants and have them snoop around at the shady end of the docks. I think they'll have no difficulties to … mingle.”

“Hm.”, he nodded vaguely.

He had a faint idea who Phryne was referring to, but he wasn't sure if he really wanted to know what exactly was her definition of _trained_. Last he knew was that Bert and Cec had smuggled an illegal Russian émigré, going by the name of _Caviar_ , out of the country.

“We'll have to check Mr Thompson's story nevertheless.”, Jack reminded her.

“Of course.”

Phryne leant forward to help herself to another drop scone from the coffee table. Her eyes were drawn to Dot's list of the missing items from the hotel safe.

“Um, what about our missing valuables? Anything worth noting?”

“No obvious pattern as far as I can see. Except that some of them would seem to be rather heavy. Perhaps we'll know more once we receive the entire account on the safe contents. I'll get Collins onto it.”

“You really should bring him some of these delicious drop scones, Jack. From what Dot told me, poor Hugh was detained here until late at her behest last night. You wouldn't want to risk another attempt on your secret stash, would you?”, Phryne said jokingly.

Jack cast a wry smile at her. He knew that the real culprit was actually sitting right next to him.

“I think it's about time to check Mr Thompson's statements with his aunt.”, he suggested, clapping his hands on his knees.

“My sentiments exactly.”, Phryne stood up effusively and hurried into the hallway, “I guess it's best if we look for an unoccupied booth in the hotel restaurant. Trust me, high society is known to talk more willingly if they are left in their natural habitat.”

Jack followed her.

“I'll take your word for it.”

In the meantime, Dot had fetched the white cloche hat matching Phryne's outfit. She really was a treasure, she thought to herself when she put it on, thereby checking the state of her lipstick in the small mirror.

Jack took his coat and hat off the hall stand. When he was about to don his coat he realised that he was still holding the list showing the stolen items in his hand.

“Mr Thompson's aunt happens to be missing something from the safe as well. She's mentioned on our list.”, he explained.

He passed Phryne the sheet of paper, pointing one finger at her name.

“Really?”

She snatched it out of his hand in no time.

“' _Imelda Thompson_ , _room 136_ ' … A ' _three strand diamond necklace_ '”, she read aloud, “Well, whoever removed the items from the crime scene definitely knew their value.”

“I trust Mr Riggs can confirm that you definitely arrived with him at the crime scene?”

There was the usual waggish glint in Jack's eyes again.

Phryne rolled her eyes and wordlessly took her black handbag and white gloves off the hall stand.

* * * *

As it turned out Imelda Thompson was the elderly lady Phryne had noticed in the restaurant last night. She estimated her to be seventy years of age. Despite her age she was dressed in a very modern way. She was wearing a smart, dark blue velvet dress combined with fashionable onyx-studded jewellery.

When they had called her down her greeting had been rather chilly.

“The hotelier told me you needed to speak to me, Inspector? He didn't say anything about you bringing an ordinary hotel guest.”

Phryne blinked in disbelief.

Jack cleared his throat.

“Miss Fisher is a lady detective. She's helping us with our investigations.”

Phryne put on a smug smile.

“Ah, I see … I do hope you're not facing a staff shortage at the moment.”, Miss Thompson replied sceptically.

He ignored her comment, although Phryne could see him gritting his teeth in silent annoyance.

“You heard about the murder of a hotel guest last Sunday, I take it? I'm afraid we have to ask you a few questions about Mr Thompson in connection with this incident.”, he gestured towards a restaurant booth, “Please.”

She followed them hesitantly.

Jack cast a brief, meaningful glance at Phryne when they sat down. This unspoken expression of appreciation had to do for now.

He passed Miss Thompson a photograph of the deceased.

“Miss Thompson, do you recognise this girl? Her name was Rose Hamilton, she had been working for Lady Marshall – another guest staying here at the hotel.”

She studied the picture for a moment.

“No, I don't think so. I never heard this name. Her face doesn't look familiar to me either.”, she explained sounding rather curt, “What makes you think there is any connection between her and my nephew?”

“Well, his wristwatch was found in her handbag and it clearly got there before her death. Do you have any idea how it got there?”

Jack sat back in his chair, resting one arm on the chair next to him in a nonchalant yet authoritative manner.

Miss Thompson gave them a bewildered look.

“As far as I can remember he always kept it in his bedside table. Perhaps he lost it unknowingly. Do you think he was robbed?”

“You tell us!”, Phryne replied sharply and raised her chin.

“Well, in his line of business he has to attend various meetings. There are days he would leave the hotel in the morning and wouldn't return before evening. My hotel room is farther down the hallway. If someone broke into his room when he wasn't present I wouldn't have noticed a thing.”

Phryne couldn't help feeling Miss Thompson's answer was addressed to Jack rather than to her.

“When did you last see him wearing his watch?”, Jack asked soberly.

Miss Thompson knitted her brows pensively.

“A few of days ago … ?”

Phryne's suggestion that the missing keys incidence three days ago was actually Rose Hamilton's doing became more and more plausible.

“Do you know if he was particularly attached to it?”, Phryne inquired further, avoiding to let on her own suspicion that Riley Thompson hadn't reported his watch missing on purpose.

“I don't think so, … no.”

Miss Thompson shook her head.

Phryne narrowed her eyes. If his aunt wasn't aware of any significance the watch in question could possibly have, she thought to herself, it had to be of _some_ importance to him.

From the suddenly pensive look on her face Jack could tell that some kind of brainwave had come to her mind.

“Where did your nephew go yesterday morning? Did he have a meeting that day too?”, he asked quickly.

“No. I asked him to get me a few clothes I keep in my summer cottage in Daylesford. He was kind enough to do me that favour.”

“Hm.”, Jack nodded.

“Alright, Miss Thompson. I think we've taken enough of your time.”, he stood up and put on his hat, “As to Mr Thompson's watch, I'm afraid we need to hold on to it as police evidence until this case is solved. If you wouldn't mind passing it on to him?”

“Of course.”, she replied, tersely again.

* * * *

Phryne and Jack were walking arm in arm down the entrance hall of the hotel.

“Now, it all seems that the alleged connection between Mr Thompson and Rose Hamilton is just accidental. He fell victim to a loose cannon when his watch was stolen from him.”, Jack began, “I still wonder what was Mr Thompson's motive for not coming forward. His aunt wasn't much help to us on this matter.”

He was turning his hat absent-mindedly in his left hand.

“My guess is that there's something odd about that watch. If it was an item having some sentimental value for Mr Thomson, his aunt would know about that. I'm curious if Bert and Cec will find out something that could help us. I left them with instructions.”, Phryne replied.

Jack knitted his brows sceptically. Much as he had come to appreciate the two cabbies' helpful disposition, as a police officer, he would probably never be entirely sure about their reliability.

“What do you make of Mr Thompson's day trip?”

“I checked. Providing Mr Thompson is someone who follows the speed limit,” – Phryne rolled her eyes irritatedly – “the errand accords with his absence from the hotel yesterday.”

“Touché.”

Phryne stopped.

“There has to be someone in or outside the hotel our victim has been in special contact with.”, she huffed slightly frustrated, “It's no point looking for a murderous accomplice among the staff. All of them have free access to the keys and could have robbed the safe easily without ever being noticed.”

She had started gesturing dramatically.

“Perhaps we should ask around on the first floor if the hotel guests noticed anything unusual on the night of the murder.”, Jack suggested soothingly.

“Off to brandish your card at the easily offended part of Melbourne society, Jack?”, Phryne smiled teasingly, retaliating against his former taunt.

He darted an annoyed look at her.

“I'd prefer ' _regular police business_ ', Miss Fisher.”

“Alright, I'll leave you on your turf then. Meanwhile, … there's another lead I intend to follow. … Unless, of course, you need me to stay?”

She blinked at him.

“What lead?”

He ignored the second part of her response as he couldn't tell himself at this moment in time.

“Perhaps I should pay Aunt P a visit, ask her if she knows anything that would help us.”

“Ah, I see.”, Jack replied rather tersely.

He had let go of her arm.

“Good luck, Jack!”

Phryne turned to go, then spun around again, her long coat wafting around her body.

“Oh, I believe I owe you an apology for last night.”

“You do?”, Jack asked in puzzlement.

“Why, I stood you up for Mr Thompson! It must have been a tiresome evening for you, Jack! Listening in with nothing to do but taking a nip of your glass of whisky every now and then …” (He wasn't entirely sure if _tiresome_ was the correct word for what he had been forced to endure for at least one hour) “… perhaps I should treat you to a drink this time … say, eight o'clock, at my hotel room?”, she offered cutesy.

Without waiting for his assurance she left and made her way to Aunt Prudence's residence.

* * * *

Phryne pulled up jauntily in front of her aunt's opulent home – nearly running over the freshly planted roses that were lining the driveway. Good thing the parlour windows looked out onto the spacious garden. She got out of her car and took off her sun glasses. Let's get this over with!, she thought to herself.

“So you really expect me to speak out of turn about the cream of Melbourne society?”, Aunt P asked in a miffed tone of voice, putting down the old-fashioned teacup on the saucer, “I most certainly will do nothing of the kind.”

Phryne sighed.

They had sat down on one of the floral chintz sofas in the light parlour. She should have guessed her aunt would be a hard nut to crack in this matter.

“And if you're looking for gossip,” , her aunt's glance fell onto a newspaper on a side table, “you and your dour Inspector-friend should interrogate people like Tom Best, … not me. He's the scandalmonger of this town.”

Phryne scanned the front cover quickly out of the corner of her eye, recognising the distinctive logo of _The Sun_. Their latest issue by the look of it.

She wondered why her aunt was reading that sort of newspapers if they were upsetting her so much.

It seemed highly improbable that the questioning techniques Jack had taught her by know – if not exactly by design – would work in this instance. So she had to find another way how to winkle some information out of her aunt.

“Given that you hosted the charity ball in the first place it seems only fair to me that you help the hotel clearing up that mess, Aunt P.”, she tried instead.

Perhaps appealing to her aunt's social standing would eventually loosen her tongue.

“Honestly, Phryne! It's hardly my fault that this poor girl died the very same night! I assure you, I was not the one who invited her to the ball. I'm sure it's just a horrible coincidence.”

Experience had taught Phryne that murders didn't exactly occur coincidentally a while ago.

Her aunt's strict tone of voice suggested that she was walking on very thin ice now. She put her teacup onto the side table.

“I believe, as its hostess you do have a certain charitable reputation to uphold, even in the aftermath. It's a chance to show the hotel that you don't just think of it as a prop to further your own causes. What could there be more charitable than that?”

Her aunt cast a reproachful look at her.

There was a long pause.

“There's nothing charitable about a murder.”, she replied brusquely after a few seconds.

Phryne bit her lip. Perhaps she had put the latter comment a tad too accusingly.

“I'm sorry, Aunt Prudence … I know you chose to host the ball at the _Riverside Hotel_ for a good cause. I didn't mean any offence. But it's what people might think. You know what high society can be like. Your inside knowledge would help the police a great deal to rule out the hotel guests as suspects.”

She took the teapot from the side table and refilled her aunt's teacup.

“What do you know about Imelda Thompson and her nephew Riley Thompson?”

Phryne decided not to mention in how far Riley Thompson was involved in their investigations at this stage. If her aunt wouldn't cast aspersions on high society she would follow suit this time.

Since Dr Hayden Samuels and his colleagues, who had used Aunt Prudence's home as a women's sanatorium for a few weeks, had left, she had hosted several soirées again. So there was a fair chance that her aunt had come to know a few members of – what she called – 'the cream of Melbourne society' better by now.

Aunt Prudence took a slow sip of her tea before answering Phryne. She had a faint impression that her aunt took her time drinking the cup of tea on purpose.

“There's not much to tell about them. To my knowledge Mr Thompson has been living with his aunt since the age of 18 after his parents had died. Some years ago he started importing foreign goods from the Continent as an entrepreneur. He donated a generous cheque last Sunday. I once visited his aunt Imelda Thompson at their summer cottage in Daylesford. She's a very lofty person.”

“With lofty being a relative term …”, Phryne thought aloud

“Humph.”

Aunt P stood up wordlessly and headed for the mantelpiece. When she returned she was carrying an old-fashioned porcelain cupid sculpture with her.

“Look here! Genuine _Meissen porcelain_. One of many brands Mr Thompson is importing from the Continent.”, she explained proudly and put it down on the side table.

Phryne had to try very hard not screw up her face at the sight of such a kitschy item. Only after a few seconds did she realise that her aunt was waiting for a reply.

“Very lovely.”, she affected a smile, “May I?”

Phryne reached for the sculpture.

“Be careful!”, her aunt warned her harshly.

After she had passed her the cupid Phryne turned it over to study its base. It had the distinctive crossed swords logo on it.

“I'm quite capable of telling an original from a forgery myself, my dear. And I really don't see what my most valuable acquisitions have to do with that horrible incident.”

Her aunt had put on a miffed tone.

“Just curious.”, Phryne replied cutesy.

When Aunt P turned around to put the sculpture back onto it's not so inconspicuous place, Phryne couldn't help rolling her eyes. At times, her aunt could be quite the battleaxe.

“Now, I hope you're done with your questions, Phryne.”, her aunt's voice called her back into reality, “The Hospital Board is holding a meeting this afternoon and I still need to go over some financial matters.”

“Of course. Don't let me keep you!”, she replied, relieved that her aunt dismissed her that diplomatically.

They were walking down the cream-coloured hallway.

“If you recall anything that might help the police solve this case, I'm happy to act as the go-between.”, Phryne teased Aunt P as she showed her out.

“He has grown rather fond of you, hasn't he? I have to admit, he can be quite endearing at times.”

“Who?”, Phryne asked caught off guard.

Her aunt gave her a knowing smile and opened the front door.

She snorted smiling and made her way back to her car, feeling slightly flustered.

Aunt P's remark had caused a déjà vu sensation in the pit of her stomach.

 _Whoever he is, he's a lucky man_.


	7. Thick as Thieves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some secrets will come to light. But is there something the Riverside Hotel is hiding?

It was around midday when Phryne got back to the hotel. The sunny morning had turned into a cloudy noon. As the white semi-transparent coat seemed rather inappropriate now, she swapped it for a green cowl neck blouse combined with black trousers and a cream crochet cardigan.

Jack hadn't left any kind of note for her whether he had headed back to the station, so she assumed that he was still somewhere around. And knowing his objective – asking the hotel guests staying on the first floor if they had noticed anything unusual last Sunday – she knew it wouldn't be that hard to search him out.

A moment after she had touched up her ruby red lipstick in the rose-coloured bathroom someone knocked at the suite door. Phryne could have identified this knock even without recognising Jack's grey coat through the textured pane.

She opened the door with a cheerful smile.

“Excellent timing! You're not here to check my alibi, are you, Inspector?”

Jack cast a wry look at her and entered the suite, taking off his hat.

“Good! There are enough people who can tell you that I didn't leave the ballroom until after Mr Winter was attacked anyway.”

“Such as?”, he asked teasingly as he hung up his hat and coat on the hat stand.

“Well, there's Aunt P, for one. Mr Drake, I believe, and James Walker –”

“Who's James Walker?”, he asked frowning.

“No-one … in particular.”, she explained cutesy, “Unless you're looking for someone who will vouch for me.”

He blinked, looked aside for a moment, then he vaguely shook his head.

“Er, … I'll take your word for it, thank you. Did you get some insider information on the high end of town from your aunt?”, he asked quickly and sat down on a bronze-coloured armchair in the living room.

He knew that she was just trying to tease him.

Phryne opened a mahogany cocktail cabinet, took out two glasses and poured whisky into them.

“Well, you know Aunt P. It took me some time to loosen her tongue.”

She passed Jack one glass before she sat down opposite to him.

“Clearly, your charms don't extend to family members.”, he replied jokingly, thinking of Phryne's consternation at the discovery that her father had managed to outsmart her a couple of weeks ago.

As though she had read his mind, she cast an irritated look at him.

“She spoke very highly of Mr Thompson and his aunt. It seems he's running a successful business as an importer of branded goods. Has been for many years now, by the look of it. His regular donations to the hospital board have earned him quite a standing with high society. According to Aunt P he donated a generous cheque at the end of the ball on Sunday, which suggests that he stayed until last.”

“Hm. Looks like Riley Thompson and Imelda Thompson get on quite well.”

“What about your fact-finding mission?”, Phryne asked, “Did you win the hotel guests over or did you only spread the fear of the knock at the door?”

“They were surprisingly forthcoming, on the whole –”

“I guess I'll have to put it down to your charms just this once.”, she interrupted Jack in a flirtatious voice.

She sat back in the sofa and took a sip of the whisky.

Jack raised an eyebrow at this free-spoken, flattering remark.

“Unfortunately, their statements won't help our investigations. Most of the guests staying on this floor attended the ball last Sunday as well, so they weren't in their rooms, or didn't notice anything out of the ordinary that night. Another dead end. I also had a chat with some waiters, but they didn't notice anything unusual either. They couldn't even tell if our victim showed up at the ball. Too busy with stargazing at the rich and famous, I guess.”, he explained resignedly and took a sip of the whisky.

Phryne bit her lip pensively.

“If they didn't notice Rose at the ball, perhaps she only showed up there for a short while. She could have met up with her partner in crime instead to go over their plot one last time.”, she suggested eventually.

“If she left this early,”, Jack continued, “It'd mean they are more likely a resident at the hotel rather than an accomplice lurking around outside the hotel.”

“Seems that way.”, Phryne agreed.

* * * *

“Sure your mystery buyer is only short in supplies of that titbit this time? Got a new cargo of exquisite manchester a couple of days ago.”, Bill Kirby, otherwise known as Old Kirby, asked Cec with a broad accent as he helped him loading a crate into the cab in the far corner of a warehouse at the end of the docks.

Although Bert an Cec knew Old Kirby quite well by now, he still was a hard nut to crack.

“Nah, don't think so. But we've got another question.”, Bert replied and pressed a generous note into Old Kirby's slightly mercenary hands.

The two of them had been surprised at the considerable down payment Phryne had left for them in the kitchen this time, but they could see now that she had wisely allowed for any costs their venture might involve.

“Ever heard of a bloke named Riley Thompson? Importer of foreign goods. Rumour has it that he's dealing with knock-off products.”

Cec was aware that this accusation was only a theory at this stage, but they had to get Old Kirby talking somehow.

“Yeah, I know 'im.”, Old Kirby scratched his ear, “I don't know nothing about 'im dealing with knock-offs but he contacted me a couple of months ago and asked my advice.”

* * * *

Dot was just carrying a pile of fresh sheets upstairs when she heard a clinking noise from the kitchen.

Slightly startled, she put the laundry basket down onto the stairs and hurried into the kitchen to check what had caused this dreadful noise.

“Mr Butler? Is everything –”

“Comin' through!”, Bert called out loud.

As she entered the kitchen she saw Bert and Cec carrying a large crate. The rear door stood wide open.

“What's this?”, she asked in puzzlement.

“Souvenir from the docks, Dottie. Thought Miss Fisher could do with some fine beverages.”

Bert smirked and took off his hat.

“Was that an overturned tea tray, Dorothy?”

Mr Butler stepped into the kitchen – equally bewildered. He was holding today's mail in his hands.

“Not much left of your down payment, I'm afraid.”, Cec explained hesitantly.

“What's that supposed to mean?”, Dot asked in a high-pitched tone of voice.

She eyed the large crate with a sense of foreboding.

“Oh …”, she glanced up to the ceiling, it dawned on her what they were hinting at, “You were meant to gather _information_! Not … stolen goods!”

She made a sweeping gesture towards the crate. Her voice sounded very stern now.

“Isn't stolen, just cheap at the price.”, Bert replied casually.

She raised her brows quizzically.

“A very fine choice! I'm sure Miss Fisher will be delighted.”

Mr Butler had opened the crate and was examining the gold-coloured label of a bottle containing a sparkling substance, strongly reminiscent of French champagne.

Dot cast a staggered look at Mr Butler – as did Bert and Cec.

“Er … and we found out about that importer you wanted us to track.”

Cec was the first to regain his composure.

“Then you'd better call Miss Phryne right away. Off you go!”

Dot pointed towards the hallway and cast a piercing look at them.

For some reason Bert couldn't help feeling like a naughty child caught red-handed.

When Cec picked up the receiver she quickly made her way up to Phryne's bedroom. She wasn't entirely sure if she really wanted to hear where Bert and Cec had got their information.

* * * *

The hotel telephone rang in the living room. Phryne went to answer it.

“G'day, Miss!”, – she recognised Cec's voice – , “We found out about your toffee-nosed Thompson-joker.”, Bert chimed in.

“I knew I could rely on you!”

It dawned on Jack who Phryne was talking to, so he drew closer and bent over to listen in on their conversation.

“Seems he's having some financial problems at the moment.”, Cec explained.

“How intriguing! –”

“Claims to run a flashy business, but turns out to be a wheeler-dealer … A bloody hypocrite!”, Bert cut her short.

Phryne and Jack exchanged puzzled glances.

“Meaning what exactly?”

“Word is that it's common practice among … er … traders to put up prices if business is bad.”, Cec explained.

“In what way?”, Phryne asked bewildered.

“Old Kirby – ouch - , … they say, at times they rip off people.”

Phryne cast a knowing smile at Jack. She could vividly imagine Cec elbowing Bert. Jack rolled his eyes resignedly.

“… Selling some middling quality products for over the odds. Things like that.”, Cec continued.

“Counterfeits?”

“Nah, just filthy daylight robbery to keep afloat.”, Bert cursed.

“Well done, you two! Goodbye, see you then!”

With this she rang off.

“I'd wager, it's best not to ask where your Red Raggers got their information?”, Jack asked, smirking playfully.

“Exactly! Because I don't know either.”

Phryne shrugged her shoulders casually and sat down on the bronze-coloured sofa. He raised his eyebrows sceptically. He knew her too well by know to see through her. She sighed stiltedly.

“I assure you, they didn't use a sledgehammer to crack a nut. I'm always happy to leave this part to you, Jack!”

Jack ignored Phryne's comment and leant casually against the cocktail cabinet. Then he wordlessly took Mr Thompson's wristwatch out of an inside pocket of his suit, pretending to examine it without having any intention to share his thoughts on the latest development of their case with her. He slightly turned his back on her.

This, of course, aroused Phryne's interest.

Jack couldn't help smirking when she stood up and drew closer inquiringly.

She glanced over his shoulder curiously.

“As to that watch –”

“Yes?”, he asked in an amused tone and turned around again.

“This single _T_ on the dial could be the key to all of this. If what Bert and Cec were told at the docks is true, it'd make perfect sense for Mr Thompson not to report that it had gone missing. Everyone is supposed to think he's importing quality goods from the Continent. However, _trader in dire straits_ hasn't quite the same ring to it. It's all about keeping up appearances if you ask me. Clearly, he doesn't want to be associated with a questionable trading scheme, let alone provide evidence that could link him to a murder.”, Phryne explained dramatically.

She was in her element again.

“So, in your opinion, Thompson buys lesser-known products, ascribes genuine continental origin to them and then sells them to an unsuspecting clientele in Australia at a rather extortionate price?”, Jack summed up.

“More or less.”

“Which would make him a fraud …”

“And would explain his suspicious behaviour!”, Phryne smiled at him.

Her ingenuity was a trait he'd probably never get tired of, Jack thought to himself in silent admiration.

“Speaking of more or less valuable items,”, he put the watch back into his pocket, “I think its time to return to the station, check with Collins if he received the entire account on which valuables from the safe have gone missing. It might tell us more about Miss Hamilton's accomplice.”

“You really are indulging me these days, Jack.”, Phryne replied in an overly seductive tone of voice that made Jack feel rather hot around his collar.

She headed for the suite door and donned her beige hat and coat.

“Glad to hear you're satisfied that easily, Miss Fisher.”, he retaliated impassively and reached for his coat.

Phryne was just about to turn the door handle when they heard hurried footsteps in the corridor.

“ _Louisa! Have you got a moment? It's about Sunday night!_ ”, a woman's voice called out loud.

“ _Shh, keep it down, Sophie! We mustn't be seen together. Get in here_!”, another voice responded.

Although the corridor was barely visible through the textured pane of the door, they could see two people dressed in black disappearing behind a door opposite her hotel suite.

“It's the supply closet of this floor, Jack!”, Phryne explained wide-eyed in a low voice.

When settling in at the hotel she had checked all doors on this floor that weren't marked as hotel rooms at the earliest opportunity – just in case someone would feel the urge to disappear unnoticed for whatever reasons.

“You do know your way around. I suppose you intend to follow them?”, Jack asked slightly amused.

With his voice so close to her ear she suddenly felt a brief shudder running down her spine.

“Er … Of course.”

And they left the suite closing the door carefully behind them.

Phryne and Jack could hear hushed voices in the corridor that became clearer as they drew closer to the supply closet. The plain wooden door had been left ajar. They exchanged anxious glances.

“… _Thanks for taking over my shift last Sunday, Louisa. Mr Best gave us_ _£_ _6 this time_ …”

Phryne paused.

That name rang a bell! She knew she had heard that name before. Now she remembered. Aunt Prudence hat mentioned it earlier today. ' _You should interrogate people like Tom Best, not me_ ' … A notorious journalist of _The Sun_.

She beckoned Jack closer to her.

“… _This is your share_.”

The narrow crack just enabled them to see one of the two girls – maids by the look of it – pulling out a small brown parcel from under the white apron of her uniform and handing it to her colleague.

Jack remembered reading the name ' _Sophie Watson_ ' in Constable Collins' notes concerning the staff who had been on duty on the night of the murder. Obviously, the two girls had not only changed identities that night, but also in a preliminary police questioning.

“… _Thanks, Sophie_.”

“ _You'd better leave now before anyone notices you_.”

Jack and Phryne backed away from the door a second before it opened.

The two maids stepped out of the supply closet.

“It's a bit too late for that, I'm afraid.”, Jack said calmly, but with a piercing glance.

* * * *

“Do you ever clean here?”

The blonde maid Hugh had interviewed yesterday – masqueraded as Sophie Watson then; real name Louisa Skerrett – eyed him quizzically.

She swept one gloved finger across the large counter.

“See?”, she held her hand out to him – now slightly smudged –, “Your cop shop is a pigsty if ever I saw one. I started at a country inn, you know?”

For a moment Hugh wondered if such a remark would count among _insulting an official_ , but then he thought of Dot, came to the conclusion that, if asked, she would probably say the same and left it at that.

He tried to put on a straight face instead.

“Miss Skerrett, … if you'd just like to take a seat here and wait until Inspector Robinson asks for you.”, he pointed at the wooden bench behind her.

“And what if I prefer standing?”, she asked arrogantly and glanced around casually in the reception area of the police station.

She studied the wanted posters on the green noticeboard opposite the counter.

“Um, do all criminals look that hideous? One could feel almost sorry for your lot.”, she sighed.

“Err …”

The young woman turned around again and drew closer to the counter as if to order something.

“I really could do with a cup of tea now … Tell me, Constable,”, she beamed at him, “what do you offer?”

Hugh smiled awkwardly and cast a desperate look towards his boss' office door.

* * * *

“So, … Miss _Sophie Watson_ …”, Jack looked up from the passport he was holding in his hand – the black-and-white photograph matched the short, dark-haired woman sitting opposite them – “You'd better explain why you switched shifts with your colleague the night before last.”

Phryne, who had already made herself comfortable on the edge of Jack's desk, took the passport out of his hands and handed it back to its owner. Sophie Watson slipped it back into her handbag.

“Well, if you must know, I went to visit my mother. She's bedridden with influenza since a few weeks. I wanted to check on her and Louisa offered to help me.”, she replied straightforward.

Phryne had to suppress a snort.

“And you often get paid for … visiting your relatives?”, she asked cynically, thinking of the £6 the two maids had mentioned earlier today.

“No, … but I managed to arrange a loan with an old family friend. Surely, you can see that medicine doesn't come cheap.”

She seemed thoroughly confident of her story.

“And sharing it with your friend out there?”, Jack asked frowning, nodding towards the office door.

“Why, that's obvious, isn't it? I had to repay her for that favour in one way or another. Ask Louisa, she'll tell you. We have switched shifts before.”

“So you decided for a monetary payment?”, Phryne chimed in.

She could see through a lie if she was told one.

There was no fooling Jack either.

“Giving money that isn't yours to a colleague who agreed to help you out without asking for money in return? Well, I'm sure your mystery backer will be very happy about that.”, Jack summed up sarcastically, “… Now the truth, Miss Watson.”

He leant back in his chair and folded his arms.

“You said, _Mr Best gave us_ _£_ _6 this time_. Is he your 'family friend'?”, Phryne asked sceptically.

“Yes, that's him.”, she confirmed composedly.

“What's his full name?”, Jack asked in a firm tone of voice.

Phryne was waiting for the moment Sophie Watson would eventually run out of bold answers.

“Thomas … Thomas Best.”

She didn't even blink.

The young maid was more resourceful than she had given her credit for.

“A word outside, Jack?”

Phryne tilted her head towards the side entrance of his office.

Jack stood up and followed her outside, telling Sophie Watson to wait in the office.

Phryne sighed.

“A cool customer, I agree.”, he replied in a hushed voice.

“Looks like Sophie won't tell us about her whereabouts on Sunday night in a hurry, Jack, but she's definitely hiding something. And with money being involved here, I guess, it doesn't bode well.”, she began.

“All we know so far is that Sophie Watson and Louisa Skerrett switched shifts two days ago. This suggests that Miss Watson wasn't at the hotel on the night of the murder –”

“Or at least not where she was supposed to be.”

“Er, yes, … which means it's quite likely that Miss Skerrett was working near the crime scene at the time in question.”, Jack concluded.

“If my hunch is right, that 'Thomas Best' is indeed the journalist 'Tom Best' writing for _The Sun_ , there could be a connection between the two of them and some rather dubious newspapers. From what we heard earlier we know they were paid for something after the night of the murder. It's rather suspicious, don't you think? And there's still the matter of the valuables from the safe that have mysteriously disappeared only seconds after the fact. It's on the cards that they are somehow linked with all the odd happenings that night. Whatever it is, we need to make her talk.”, Phryne spoke her mind in one go.

Jack had been listening patiently.

“Miss Watson told us this wasn't the first time they switched shifts. If she and Miss Skerrett are in cahoots I doubt they'll tell us different stories.”, he interposed.

“I know you like to keep an open mind and entertain all possibilities before charging your criminals, Jack, but in this instance we might have to resort to more extreme measures.”

Phryne started smiling conspiratorially.

Jack cast a bewildered look at her.

“Well, ... if we were to present her with a _fait accompli_ … I'm sure she won't hold her peace for long.”

It gradually dawned on Jack what Phryne was having in mind.

“I see. What do you want me to charge her with?”

“Oh, … don't bother about that.”, she waved her hand dismissively, “Just leave it to me. I'm sure you'll catch up soon enough.”

Her reply left him speechless. Letting her join his investigations was one thing, allowing her to bring charges against suspects at his station was another matter.

“That's settled then.”, Phryne gave him a smug smile.

“Alright.”, Jack ran his hand over his forehead resignedly, “I'll get Collins to call Miss Skerrett in.”

Jack met him halfway to the reception area carrying a tea cup.

“Ohh!”

Hugh flinched and nearly dropped it.

“What are you doing, Constable?”, he asked frowning.

“Sorry, sir … er,”, he pointed backwards, “Miss Skerrett asked me for a cup of tea.”

Jack looked down at the cup, then up to his constable in bewilderment a couple of times.

“Hm.”, he replied vaguely, pursing his lips.

“How very kind of you! Leave the tea here, Hugh. We've got a better treat for her.”, Phryne chimed in cutesy.

Jack cast a stern look at Hugh.

“Please see Miss Skerrett to the interview room.”

“Yes, sir.”

He looked down at the tea cup in his hands in embarrassment.

* * * *

“Miss Skerrett, your friend told us you switched shifts with her last Sunday.”, Phryne began.

She was pacing the room casually, not without taking a small amount of pride in her achievement.

Jack was leaning against the white windowsill.

“So what? She wanted to look after her mother.”, Louisa Skerrett replied impatiently.

“Oh, certainly.”, Phryne agreed, pretending they were thoroughly convinced by Sophie Watson's statements, “It, theoretically, puts her out of suspicion, … but it also suggests that you were working near the corridor where Rose Hamilton was pushed down an, unfortunately, rather steep staircase that night. We know that the two of you changed identities when the staff of the hotel were questioned last Monday. Why would Sophie consent to this masquerade? Both of you had a good excuse for her absence that night. Unless … you talked her into another swap this time … perhaps you needed her to stick to the story for another reason?”

“I'm afraid I'm not quite following you.”, the young maid knitted her brows.

“You must have had your reasons for not coming forward. Maybe you witnessed one of your colleagues pushing the victim down the staircase and now you're covering up for them – which would make you an accessory after the fact.”, Phryne propounded coolly, “– Or worse.”, she added insistently.

Louisa Skerrett cast a bewildered look at her.

“A member of staff said he saw a woman of your exact description entering room 130 in the west wing at eleven o'clock. The autopsy showed that the victim died at about the same time, Miss Skerrett.”, Jack interposed from the corner of the room, carrying on Phryne's ploy

“What are you getting at?”

She sounded angry now.

“Perhaps it was you who pushed the poor girl down the staircase on the spur of the moment to thwart a hotel robbery.”, Phryne suggested boldly.

They had scrapped the theory their victim had been caught red-handed already a while ago, but she hoped this accusation would eventually loosen Louisa Skerrett's tongue.

“You definitely had the opportunity.”, Jack affirmed pretending.

“What? You can't be serious!? I was servicing the rooms in the east wing to sneak Mr Reeves' booze back into his hotel room. Sophie had found out that he was attending the ball that night and that the coast was clear. That's –”, the young maid stopped short.

Phryne and Jack exchanged meaningful glances.

“Oh?”

Phryne put on a curious tone of voice, trying to fight back the triumphant smile twitching in the corner of her mouth.

“Go on!”, Jack said unperturbed.

He crossed the room, stopped at the small table and leant against the moulding behind him.

Phryne sat down on the chair opposite Miss Skerrett.

“Alright, you got us!”, the maid sighed, “Sophie and I have an arrangement with a journalist writing for _The Sun_. We'd keep our eyes and ears open for delicate stories about the rich and famous staying at the _Riverside Hotel_ and he'd pay us for reliable information in return. If a colleague would ask us why we were switching shifts every now and then we'd tell them that Sophie's mother wasn't well.” – she lowered her eyes at Jack's determined look and turned towards Phryne – “We had been spying on the actor Daniel Reeves for a couple of weeks now because there had been some talk he started to hit the bottle after an acting job had fallen through. Tom Best asked us to look into this matter.”

“A profitable venture, no doubt.”, Phryne remarked, thinking of the issue she had spotted on her aunt's side table earlier today.

“And what about Sunday night?”, Jack asked.

“Well, we didn't get very far with the job until three days ago. That's when Sophie managed to get hold of the master keys for the first floor. She went to search Reeves' room and discovered a stash of booze in his closet. She took one bottle with her as proof of the whole thing and showed it to me the next day. As it was the day of the ball we decided to switch shifts in the evening so she could meet up with Tom and that I could return the bottle without anyone noticing. That's all.”, she shrugged her shoulders.

There was a brief pause.

“Show Miss Watson in, Collins.”, Jack called without averting his eyes from Louisa Skerrett.

The door of the interview room opened and Hugh signified Sophie Watson to follow his boss' orders.

“There's no need to beat around the bush. Your colleague told us everything about your neat pin money arrangement with notorious journalist Tom Best.”

Jack pointed at the chair next to Miss Skerrett. When Miss Watson sat down her friend cast an apologetic glance at her.

“Then I see no reason for you to hold us here any longer.”, she protested.

Jack raised his brows unrelentingly.

“Leave it alone, Sophie.”, Miss Skerrett said under her breath.

“That remains to be seen.”, Jack replied to Miss Watson's comment.

“Clearly …”, Phryne began, craving for unnecessary attention in the small room, “you do know your way around on the first floor. Has either of you witnessed something out of the ordinary since last Sunday or some time before?”

The two girls exchanged brief glances.

Phryne had the impression they were wary about her biting questions. _Once bitten, twice shy_ , she thought to herself proudly.

Jack knitted his brows sternly at their silence.

“Now, you talk and we'll keep your moonlighting scheme to ourselves, all right?”

He put on a straight face.

Phryne was surprised at his sudden leniency, but didn't question this strategy. It was his turn now, after all.

“Well, … it wasn't really a peculiar happening.”, Miss Skerrett said after a while.

“It could be important.”, Phryne encouraged her.

“Remember these women I told you about, Sophie?”, she was rather talking to her friend than to Phryne and Jack, “sneaking out of that hotel room in the west wing to the left of the staircase in the dead of night?”

“The one you warned me to stay away from when we switched shifts last week? You said it was frequented by several women since a couple of months. Must be quite a ladies' man staying in that room.”

“What's the number of this room? Can you give us a physical description of these women?”, Jack asked eagerly and pushed himself off the wall.

Phryne could see his excitement. The spot the two girls had just mentioned was near the staircase Rose Hamilton had been found dead two days ago.

“I don't know for sure. Room 120 … or was it 122? One of the two. Do you remember the number, Sophie?”, Miss Skerrett asked.

“No, I don't think so.”, her friend shook her head.

Jack turned around, opened the door of the interview room and poked his head around the corner.

“Collins? … Collins!”

Hugh appeared in the doorway a few seconds later.

“Sir?”

“Get me the names of the guests staying in room 120 and next doors.”, he muttered, knitting his brows.

“Yes, sir.”, Hugh nodded and left for the front desk closing the door behind him.

“So … what did these women look like?”, Jack continued.

“Let me think …”, Miss Skerrett replied pensively, “I vividly remember seeing a blonde woman in that corridor. She had curly chin-length hair.”, she lifted her hands up to her chin, “Then there was a brunette with a stiffly gelled hairstyle – she looked somewhat fancy to me. And a redhead. That are the ones who struck me as odd. But there were others too. They must have been at least ten.”

Phryne gave Jack a sidelong glace at the last description.

“Red hair, you say?”, she turned towards Miss Skerrett.

“That's right. She wore them with a finger waves hairstyle.”

The description sounded strangely familiar to her.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud knock at the door.

Phryne and Jack spun around.

“Excuse me, sir. Some information has just come through.”, Hugh explained gravely.

“I see.”, Jack nodded at his constable, “Miss Watson, Miss Skerrett, if you'd like to wait outside.”

He gestured towards the door.

Hugh let the two women pass before he entered the room.

He closed the door.

“Was the hotel any help, Collins?”, Jack raised one hand to his hip.

Phryne stood up curiously.

“Yes sir. A Mrs D. Thatcher is staying in room 118.”, Hugh read aloud from his notebook, “120 isn't taken at the moment –”

“And 122?”, Phryne interrupted him.

“You know him, Miss. … It's a Mr R. Thompson.”


	8. Clandestine Rendezvous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne and Jack are in for an eventful night. Don't miss out on the banter.

Night had fallen on the hotel, but many guests were still wide awake; among them also Phryne Fisher and Jack Robinson. A ' _Please do not disturb_ ' sign was dangling from the outside door handle of her hotel suite. She had opted for the midnight blue dress with a half-sheer, sporadically sequinned chiffon layer glistening in the dark tonight and he couldn't help comparing her with the starry night presenting itself through the wide window. Champagne glasses had already been put aside a while ago. They had proceeded to serious business.

“Constable Collins' report says that most of the missing items are rather cumbersome in nature. However, they aren't necessarily the most valuable ones that had been kept in the safe.”, Jack read the list in his hands.

“Really?”

Phryne stopped playing seductively with the sequins of her dress and glanced up in bewilderment.

“Hm.”, Jack nodded affirming.

“Which means … the common thread is the items' size, … not their worth. Rose Hamilton's accomplice had the chance to get away by car. Why go to the trouble of taking large valuables with them if there were much handier items among their loot as well? … Unless … we're dealing with a cover-up!”, Phryne narrowed her eyes in concentration.

Jack knitted his brows.

“Look at it this way! Our very first guess was that our victim had been caught red-handed by one of the staff and was pushed down the staircase in an attempt to stop her. Perhaps someone wanted us to think the very thing. Assuming the murder was the result of some kind of fight and her accomplice tried to frame the hotel staff for a supposedly accidental killing afterwards, they must have known it would look suspicious leaving heavy items behind that are lethal by nature – given a neat push – and just make off. And so they needed to remove the odd ones from the corridor very quickly.”, she explained.

“If they wanted to frame the staff they wouldn't have taken any items with them. It was only a matter of time to notice some items had gone missing.”, he reminded her sceptically.

“Why, perhaps they panicked and had no time to lose … or perhaps the robbery wasn't something they had planned, but the events occurred in reverse order. The list of the safe contents was burnt in the office. What if they burnt that list so no-one would notice that they were forced to spirit some items away to fake a robbery? What if we're not dealing with a complicity at all?”

“This would suggest that Rose Hamilton was killed for a different reason.”, Jack replied hesitantly, wary about Phryne's new theory.

“It has to be! Miss Skerrett's confession this afternoon, that it was her friend who stole the master key three days ago, showed us that our victim wasn't that prone to kleptomania after all. Perhaps she never even committed the robbery and it was her murderer who staged the whole thing. Riley Thompson's room is nearest to the crime scene!”

Phryne's eyes were glinting with excitement.

“You think Mr Thompson could have robbed the hotel safe after killing Miss Hamilton and simply decorated her with the valuables?”, Jack asked.

“Pretty much! I bet carrying away a few items without being noticed wasn't that hard, given that the murder practically happened on his doorstep.”, she replied gesturing dramatically.

“But we mustn't forget that Mr Thompson claims to have an alibi. He was in the lounge with his aunt at the time in question. Your aunt confirmed that he donated the cheque at the end of the ball. And what would be his motive? Miss Skerrett and Miss Watson's observation implies that he may have had an affair with our victim.”

Much as he had come to appreciate Phryne's vivid imagination, sometimes Jack felt he had to bring her back down to earth.

“From what Bert and Cec found out I'd say there are grounds to doubt his uprightness. Perhaps it was his aunt, Miss Thompson, who donated that cheque that night. If the two maids have seen several women leaving Mr Thompson's room since he's staying here at the hotel, I'd mean that he's having other affairs as well. Rose could have found out and became jealous.”, Phryne suggested.

“Which would give her a motive to kill Mr Thompson, but we need to establish a motive why he would kill her.”, Jack interposed.

Phryne paused and thought for a moment.

“Well, ... what could she have said to Mr Thompson if she found him out that would motivate a murder? I guess he wouldn't be that happy if it would come to light that he's having several affairs at the same time. For my part, I wouldn't be exactly pleased about such an exposure.”

Jack cast a bewildered look at her.

“Purely hypothetical, Jack!”, she added quickly.

“You mean blackmail?”

“Perhaps …”, she leant forward and poured herself another glass of champagne, “It's at least a possible motive.”

“In that case, what could Miss Hamilton have been blackmailing him with? Maybe she threatened him to tell his aunt?”

Phryne shook her head.

“I don't think so. Miss Thompson said she didn't know the victim.”

“What about Riley Thompson's social standing?”, a thought had crossed Jack's mind, “Granted he started his questionable trading scheme to keep up appearances, blackmailing someone who is facing financial problems makes no sense.”

Phryne paused when she was just raising the glass to her lips. Then her eyes widened.

“Not his aunt, Jack! … Who would Rose have tried to blackmail if she found out Mr Thompson is having several affairs and she really meant business to sully someone's reputation here? … Why, probably one of his lovers! Someone who is famous enough and has a lot to lose …”

“Lady Marshall?”

“Exactly! Perhaps our victim wasn't one of his lovers, but found out that her employer is one of them! Lady Marshall is the richest guest who is staying here at the moment.”, she replied in amazement.

Jack thought for a moment.

“Hm, a theory worth following up. I'll call the hotelier, ask if we can speak to her.”, he offered eventually.

He stood up and reached for the telephone on the side table.

“Hello? This is Detective Inspector Jack Robinson, City South Police. I was wondering if I could speak to one of your guests – Lady Elisabeth Marshall. Is she available tonight?”, there was a brief pause, “Are you sure, sir? … I see … thank you all the same.”

He rang off.

“The hotelier told me Lady Marshall was dining out with a few other wealthy hotel guests tonight. He saw them leave an hour ago. That's bad luck for us, I suppose.”

“Not necessarily …”, Phryne replied pensively.

For some reason she had started smiling. Jack had a sense of foreboding.

“Quite the contrary … I think it's time for some nocturnal room servicing, Jack!”

“Miss Fisher …”

He cast a warning glance at her. It gradually dawned on him what it was that made her smile.

“Come on, Jack! It was your idea not to pull rank on Lady Marshall until we find any incriminating evidence against her, not mine! And this is our golden opportunity!”, she called enthusiastically.

Jack could see a thrill of excitement glistening in her eyes.

“There's still the risk of being noticed.”, he tried once more, but he knew that he was fighting a losing battle.

“Well, unlike Lady Marshall I didn't settle down in the main drag of this building, Jack! No one knows where I'm staying. As for you ... clandestine rendezvous' don't seem to be that unusual at this hotel after all. It's unlikely they'll actually take notice of you!”

Jack blinked. He had never thought of investigating a murder along with Phryne Fisher as a clandestine rendezvous.

“I only need to fetch my handbag and my lock-pick, won't be long!”

She stood up and clapped him on the shoulder.

“You're weren't carrying that with you all the evening?”, he asked in surprise, slightly startled at her gesture.

“Not in this dress, Jack!”

Phryne hurried off to the bedroom. When she returned to the living room, a silver handbag hanging from her right arm, she was carrying a shot glass.

“What's this?”, Jack asked in befuddlement.

“A fortifier. Here, have a slip!”, she smiled at him.

“You do know I'm actually on duty.”

He only had consented to have a glass of champagne with her earlier that evening because part of his mind had told him that she really owed him an apology for last night.

“Exactly!”

She held the glass out to him. He took it hesitantly.

 _Aniseed_ , not exactly his favourite.

He tilted his head resignedly and emptied it in one gulp.

* * * *

“I believe this is the first time we used a main staircase to go unnoticed when breaking and entering.”, Phryne whispered in the dark as she was working the lock to Lady Marshall's suite.

“You live and learn, Miss Fisher. But I thought we had settled on ' _executing a search warrant_ '.”, Jack replied quietly.

“What warrant, Jack?”

He found himself at a loss for words.

Jack had been feeling uneasy about this venture ever since they had left her hotel suite. He had found himself blushing when he had noticed the ' _please do not disturb_ ' sign hanging from the door handle. To make things worse, after a slightly puzzled bellboy had wished them a good night, Phryne had insisted on holding his hand all the way up to the second floor of the west wing. Being reminded that he actually had no warrant to search Lady Marshall's room made him wonder if they had better call off the venture and return in the morning instead. Then again, the prospect of questioning a highly regarded hotel guest on the basis of a mere guesswork the next day didn't look exactly promising. And he had to admit to himself that, tonight, he was enthralled by Phryne's zest for adventure in a way. For a moment he wondered if she was taking her time picking that lock on purpose in hopes that he would come to realise this notion all on his own.

“I've got it!”

Her voice was a triumphant hiss in the dark and empty corridor.

“Hold this!”, she whispered thrusting her handbag into his hand after she had taken her small torch out of it, “Now hurry!”

Phryne opened the door carefully letting themselves in and closed it behind them. She switched on the torch. The fact that they had made it into Lady Marshall's suite without being noticed was a load off Jack's mind.

“You don't happen to have your own torch with you, Jack?”, Phryne asked cutesy.

“Um, no …”

Of course she knew he hadn't. One could hardly fit a standard-sized torch into a suit pocket.

“Seems you'll have to stay close to me …”, she concluded teasingly.

“I'll have to make do with it, Miss Fisher.”

“Great! The bedroom first?”

He cast a bewildered look at her, but she countered it with a sardonic smile.

“Err … I meant, are we going to search the bedroom first, … Inspector?”

She was clearly taking advantage of the circumstance that, for a change, she was the one to take the lead.

“Back to the case, … if you please.”, he replied rather sternly.

“All right, then. The living room first. Besides, given we're dealing with a half glass door behind us it's better not to bring that much light into the darkness anyway.”, she whispered.

“Isn't that why we came here in the first place?”, Jack asked mildly.

“Of course, but not necessarily literally!”

She grabbed his hand and he felt a sense of adventure arising from her touch.

Phryne glanced around in the living room. Her eyes were immediately drawn to a safe above the marble mantelpiece.

“I guess, breaking a safe open if investigating a safe robbery is out of the question without an official warrant, Jack?”

Jack exhaled in relief. For a moment he had feared this would be her first target.

“You're learning, Miss Fisher.”

Luckily, lights from outside brightened the living room so they could look around separately.

Phryne headed for a promising looking mahogany bureau. She was surprised to find it unlocked. For someone who was so anxious to be the centre of attention, Lady Marshall seemed little cautious about personal correspondences. But it only contained a couple of mail-order catalogues. Never mind!, she thought to herself, there was always the well-known false bottom. She slid it open with practised hands.

“And … open sesame!”

To her disappointment it turned out to be completely empty.

“Found anything?”, Jack asked quietly.

He was searching a bookshelf, although he knew a woman's taste in literature wouldn't provide hard evidence that would be admissible in court.

“I don't think so … No love letters or the like, which could point to a dalliance, in the secret drawer.”, (Jack glanced up to the ceiling sceptically), “You?”

“Not exactly … unless you can interpret reading _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ as food for thought to pursue a lax love life.”

“What makes you think you can't? Perhaps you should consult your _Collected Shakespeare_ more often.”

“Er … right.”, he replied rather flustered.

“Speaking as a professional I think we should continue our search in Lady Marshall's bedroom.”

Phryne left the living room lighting up their way to the bedroom with her torch.

Jack followed her.

“And what should we look out for in there?”, he asked, hoping their break-in wouldn't turn out a mere waste of time.

“Well, that's not so hard to guess, is it, Jack?”, she opened the door carefully, “Just imagine it was my bedroom!”

He found himself slightly blushing in the dark, but he wouldn't let it show this time. It took him a few seconds to come up with a fitting retaliation.

“Might be difficult to imagine, considering your order that I should follow your lead and given the late hour, Miss Fisher. But I'm willing to recreate this exact situation in your room when you're present any time. And this time I would bring a search warrant.”

“Be my guest! I have nothing to hide –”

“Phryne! …” – a sudden sound made the two of them start with fright – “Shh!”

Jack clapped his hand over her mouth. His other hand reached for the small torch she was still holding in her hand and switched it off. A second later they heard voices in the corridor.

“ _Did you notice if Lady Marshall returned earlier tonight, sir?_ ”

“ _No, I didn't see her coming_.”

“ _Why, that's odd! For a moment I thought I had heard someone speaking in there. The thing is that we received a telegram for her. It's labelled 'urgent'. Do you think she would want us to place it in her living room so she will be able to read it after her return, given the late hour and the label?_ ”

“ _I think so._ ”

The lock clicked. The ceiling light went on. Phryne could feel panic running through her veins.

They had just reached an inner corner of the bedroom when someone entered the living room. Unlike the other doors in the suite, the door to the bedroom stood wide open now. A circumstance that might possibly attract the hotel staff's attention.

“In here!”

This time it was Jack who grabbed Phryne's hand firmly.

She didn't know what he had in mind, but it didn't matter at that moment. She had to suppress a gasp when she felt a wall giving way behind her. Only when she recognised the smell of perfume and mothballs in the air and felt a silky fabric brushing against her cheek did she realise that he had dragged them into a clothes closet.

The minute that passed from the moment the bellboy entered the suite up to the moment he had closed the door behind him felt like ages. The two of them sighed heavily with relief when the bellboys' voices faded away.

“So, where were we?”, Jack broke the dark silence.

Phryne switched on her torch to see his face, but when the beam flashed over the floor she suddenly flinched with shock. She felt something smooth slipping through her fingers.

“What is it?”, he asked perplexed.

“Jack, … look!”

Her voice was just a faint breath.

She held up an auburn wig.

Just like Phryne, he startled at first.

“What on earth …?”, Phryne whispered slowly.

“Miss Skerrett described a red-haired woman leaving Mr Thompson's room …”, Jack knitted his brows.

They exchanged shocked glances.

Phryne examined the bottom of the closet more closely.

“There are more, Jack!”

The torchlight revealed several wig stands, the wigs varying in length and colour.

Phryne's eyes were glistening in the dark. A faint suspicion crossed Jack's mind.

“Alright, let's get out of here!”

Jack stepped out of the closet and helped Phryne stand up.

“Hang on!”

She grabbed the auburn wig and stuffed it into her handbag.

“I won't tell anyone!”, she added quickly as she noticed the anxious expression on his face.

When they passed Lady Marshall's living room, Phryne considered for a moment if she should have a look at the telegram the bellboy had left there, but when she became aware of the cold sweat on her forehead she decided against it.

Now they needed to think.


	9. All That Glitters Is Not Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected lead will cast a different light on last night's events

When Phryne woke up the next morning she felt as if she had closed her eyes only a few seconds ago. She had been racking her brain about last night's discoveries for a long time after Jack had left. It was a loud, shrill noise from the living room that woke her. It took her a few seconds to realise that what she was hearing was the hotel telephone.

Given that she was woken by this noise it must have been ringing for quite some time now, she thought to herself.

She got up quickly and stumbled into the living room, slipping the black robe with a peacock embroidery on over her rose-coloured nightdress.

She picked up the receiver.

“Miss!”

Phryne recognised Dot's voice. She sounded rather insistent.

“What is it, Dot?”

She had to suppress a yawn.

“It's about Lady Marshall.”, Dot explained.

She felt slightly dizzy because she had, perhaps, stood up a bit too quickly.

“What about her?”

“She's featured in a newspaper article today –”

“Ah, in which one? _Women's Choice_?”

She rolled her eyes. What could there be so extraordinary that Dot would consider it necessary to ring her that early?

“No, no, no, Miss. In the _Argus_. Well, it's not about her as such, but …”

And suddenly, she felt wide awake.

“Slow down, Dot. On what matter exactly?”

She could hear a rustling sound in the background when Dot opened the newspaper.

“Here it is: _Private investor Gerald Carter announces company takeover. In future his son Harry Carter is going to administrate the Carter Telecommunication Company (CTC), known for extending oversea cable links during the last four years. In addition, the apparently long-planned engagement with Lady Elisabeth Marshall was announced publicly last night_ –”

“Engagement?!”, Phryne interrupted her abruptly.

“That's what it says, Miss.”, Dot confirmed.

“Why, that's a motive for blackmail if ever there was one.”, Phryne thought aloud.

“Blackmail, Miss?”

“I'll explain later … Well spotted, fellow sleuth!”

And she rang off, only to pick up the receiver a moment later and call the telephone exchange.

“Hello? Could you please connect me to the _City South Police Station_. It's urgent.”

She heard a clicking noise

“Jack? It's me. Could you please check Lady Marshall's bank account? I think I just found out what Rose might have been blackmailing her with. See you at the station!”

* * * *

When Phryne was walking down the main staircase of the hotel, the blue beaded coat wafting behind her, she had to restrain herself not to run. The heels of her shoes echoed in the empty entrance hall.

“Pardon me, Miss Fisher. May I have a word with you?”

Imelda Thompson approached her from the breakfast room.

What on earth could she be wanting from her?, Phryne thought to herself and paused.

“If it's a quick word …”, she sighed.

“There is something I should have told the police about my nephew.”

Miss Thompson's voice sounded rather glum now.

“That is?”

“I wasn't very truthful when I told you that I sent Riley to my summer cottage in Daylesford last Monday.”

“Continue …”, Phryne asked sceptically.

“When he returned from the police station on Monday evening I asked him why you had taken him with you. He wouldn't elaborate, but urged me to confirm his statements towards the police if need be … Now you probably see that I can't confirm Riley's whereabouts for that day. I don't know where he went. He said something about an urgent appointment.”

“Why didn't you tell the police?”

She cast a piercing glace at her.

The silence that followed was answering Phryne's question.

“For the age-old fear of losing face in front of high society? … And what about the night of the murder? Was your nephew with you in the lounge or are his whereabouts of this evening a mystery as well?”

“He was … initially. But later that evening I lost sight of him. Knowing Riley, he probably went chasing after a bit of skirt.”, Miss Thompson confessed, sounding slightly embittered.

“So he really is the opportunist philanderer?”, Phryne smirked.

That was the reason why Miss Thompson had treated her so disdainfully. For fear that she would lure her nephew into a dalliance that could sully his reputation.

“I believe so.”

“Well, I'm glad you don't think of me as a siren any more.” – Miss Thompson looked at her rather embarrassed – “Why didn't you tell me earlier? … Assuming you're frightened of the police force.”

“Because … last night … I confronted him with my doubts. And he absolutely wouldn't tell me where he had been last Monday. So I decided to share this with someone more discreet.”

“A very wise decision, Miss Thompson. Thank you.”

Phryne gave her an appraising look.

“I suppose you'll be wanting to take me to the police now?”

“I was actually on my way to –”

Then it came to Phryne's mind again why she was on her way to the police station. Right now Lady Marshall was her top priority.

“Well, I'm hardly in the position to take in anyone.” – what a shame Jack had retired her as his _special constable_ last week, she thought to herself – “Just promise me to keep an eye out that your nephew doesn't leave the hotel, alright?”

And off she went.

* * * *

“Jack, I've got news!”, Phryne burst into his office.

“I know, your confederate already told us.”

“How so?”, she asked perplexed.

“Dot telephoned us after you had rung off so abruptly. She was concerned you didn't get the seriousness of her find.”, Hugh explained, sounding slightly miffed.

“That girl is a genius!”

Judging from where Hugh was standing Phryne realised that she had almost rammed the door into his back when entering Jack's office.

Today's newspaper lay unfolded on the large desk. She drew closer to read the headline herself.

“What took you so long, as a matter of interest? There's nothing wrong with your car, is there?”, Jack looked up from the newspaper and cast a wry glance at her.

Phryne rolled her eyes irritatedly.

“As it happens,”, she raised one hand to her hip, “I was held up by Miss Thompson.”

She quickly explained to them what Imelda Thompson had just told her.

“I would have loved to bring her with me, Jack, but as I can't call myself a _special constable_ any more I needed to prioritise. Namely, Lady Marshall. Was the bank any help?”

Phryne snatched at the telegram lying on Jack's desk, but his hand was faster. After a brief scramble resulting in receiving a warning, yet playful look she let go of the paper. She just couldn't help it.

“Your hunch was right. It seems Lady Marshall has been withdrawing various amounts of money regularly over the past four months. And the sums increased every time. The last withdrawal dates back to last Saturday –”

“The day before the ball!”, Phryne burst out.

“Seems that way.”, Jack affirmed in a calmer voice, “And it was a lot more than the earlier sums. £150 this time.”

Hugh raised his eyebrows in surprise.

Phryne snatched at the telegram again – successfully this time – and skimmed through it with a brief glance.

“Well, in view of that rather revealing newspaper article, I'd say, the timing of the latest withdrawal exactly one day before the ball can't be just a coincidence. If we put that together with last night's discovery that Lady Marshall and Mr Drake are having an affair this looks like a fixed blackmail to me.”

Phryne handed the telegram back to Jack.

“A case of blackmail would explain why our victim was carrying the travelling bag with her if it wasn't jewellery she was after. This suggests that Rose Hamilton had arranged a meeting with Lady Marshall … and presumably in Mr Thompson's hotel suite, given that his aunt just wrecked his alibi for the time in question.”, Jack continued.

“Definitely. This might eventually answer the question how Rose got hold of his wristwatch. And Lady Marshall's alibi went up in a puff of smoke last night, I'd say. She told us she left the ball at ten o'clock to retire. Nobody would have noticed her if she left her suite on the second floor in disguise later that night and went down to Mr Thompson. Rose's death occurred about one hour later. However, there's another possibility. Perhaps Lady Marshall didn't even go to her suite, but left for his room on the first floor straight away instead. The only person who saw her leaving the ball was the receptionist Mr Winter in the entrance hall. If she had deposited one of her wigs in Mr Thompson's room beforehand, this would explain why nobody else saw her on the way back to her suite that night. As to Rose Hamilton, … my guess is that she didn't attend the ball at all. None of the staff could actually recall seeing her there. A hush money agreement while the rest of the hotel is enjoying a glamorous party, as it were. But then something must have gone terribly wrong …”, Phryne delivered the thoughts that had been bothering her since last night.

Jack tilted his head, approving her deductions.

“And there's only one person who can tell us the full story.”

He reached for the telephone on his desk.

“Don't get me wrong, Jack, but getting high society telling their home truth might require an appropriate setting. And I know just the place.”

* * * *

A black _Cadillac_ pulled up outside.

Phryne backed away from the parlour window. They had called Lady Marshall in under the pretext that they needed to ask her a few more questions about her servant girl as part of their investigation.

“I think it's best if I'll answer the door, Mr Butler.”, she declared at the sound of the doorbell.

“Of course, Miss.”

Mr Butler put the tea tray down on the small mahogany cupboard and left for the kitchen.

Jack, who had been leaning against the mantelpiece, straightened up. Hugh checked the inside pocket of his uniform for the small notebook.

Phryne headed into the hallway and opened the door.

“Thanks for coming, Lady Marshall.”, she greeted their special guest, “The police just need a few first-hand accounts on Rose Hamilton. And it seems you're the only person who can help us in this matter. You see, … it's rather delicate. We thought it more discreet to ask you in to my home.”, she explained with well-considered words.

“Oh?”

“Say, … do you know a Mr Riley Thompson, Lady Marshall? He's staying near the staircase Rose was pushed down. We have a witness who has seen several women leaving his hotel room lately, one description matching Rose. Mr Thompson's wristwatch was found in her handbag so we have reason to believe that they were somehow acquainted with each other. As his room is so close to the spot where the deed happened we were wondering if, perhaps, your servant girl was also having an affair with him. Maybe her murder was the result of some kind of argument.”, Phryne asked as she was hanging Lady Marshall's dark green coat on the hall stand.

“That's a very delicate question, indeed.”, she replied.

Phryne noticed the sparkling gold ring on her left hand. With the engagement announced publicly last night there was no hiding. A highly influential person like Lady Marshall needed to keep up appearances. She turned the door handle to the parlour, but spun around before opening it.

“Oh, congratulations on your engagement, Lady Marshall! I read it in the newspaper just this morning.”, she smiled at her.

“Thank you …”

There was something in her voice, that told Phryne that she hadn't expected this comment. She sounded surprised, rather than delighted.

“Would you care for some tea?”

She opened the door with an inviting gesture, but Lady Marshall stopped short.

On the octagonal coffee table lay the auburn wig they had discovered in her hotel suite last night.

“Where did you get this?”, Lady Marshall asked bewildered and turned around.

“We took the liberty of making some discreet enquiries in your best interests.”, Phryne explained dismissively.

She watched her reaction carefully. It didn't seem as if Lady Marshall would rebel against them. By the look of it, she was deep in thought, trying to make sense of the situation. After a few seconds she eventually stepped into the parlour.

“What can you tell us about this, Lady Marshall?”, Jack asked calmly, pointing at the wig.

“You may judge me harshly for being a hypocrite, Inspector, but Mr Thompson was a mere fling. It meant nothing to us, you must know that. I got to know him when I settled in at the _Riverside Hotel_. He didn't know what to do with himself back then and neither did I. So we would meet every now and then.”, she began slowly.

Jack furrowed his brows.

“Go on.”, Phryne asked and offered her one of the armchairs placed around the coffee table.

Lady Marshall sat down.

“He was waiting for his house to be redecorated … and I had to live up to my role as the renowned aristocrat in front of high society to turn just enough attention to me so that the _Carter Telecommunication Company_ will benefit from the staged announcement of our engagement last night. The Carters are old friends of my father's in England. I met Harry Carter a couple of times. He seems nice enough. But it still is an arrangement of convenience between our families.”

Hugh stopped taking notes mid-sentence.

Phryne had thought having a father supposed to stay in England only travelling to Australia to cause nothing but trouble was the worst that could happen to someone who had planned to leave her family as far behind as possible. But having a family who arrange a marriage between two parties on the other side of the world to further their own economic causes, whatever their daughter's right of freedom, seemed equally sobering.

“And so as to keep your relationship a secret you would meet in disguise?”

She sat down on the chair opposite Lady Marshall.

“Yes.”, she replied tonelessly.

“I see …”, Phryne replied pensively and cast a brief glance at the tell-tale wig lying in front of them.

On second thoughts, she couldn't blame her for starting an affair.

“And what about Sunday night? Did you meet with him that day too?”, Jack inquired gravely.

Although he could see why Phryne had put on a more compassionate tone of voice, he felt that he had to remind them of the seriousness of this conversation. There still were some crucial questions that needed to be answered.

“Yes, I did.”

“Which means you lied to us when we asked you about your whereabouts that night. Why?”

He had put on a stern tone of voice.

“We had arranged a meeting … but for another reason.”

“Did this 'meeting' have anything to do with the considerable sums you have been withdrawing from your bank account over the past few months?”, Phryne offered.

“How do you know?”, Lady Marshall asked perplexed.

Phryne passed her the telegram, showing her financial transactions, she had hidden behind a small pillow earlier.

“Rose Hamilton wasn't the Girl Friday you would have had us believe, was she, Lady Marshall?”

“No … Rose had been blackmailing me for months. After she had found out that Riley Thompson and I were having an affair she realised that this was her chance to make a little money on the side. She knew that my engagement was to be announced soon.”

“How did she find you out?”, Jack asked soberly.

“I purchased several wigs by mail so I could meet with him incognito. I thought this was a sure-fire way to go unnoticed. One day, when I left Mr Thompson's room late at night I spotted Rose at the landing of a staircase. She must have followed me earlier. I quickly left for my suite, hoping I would get back before she did and that she hadn't recognised my face in the dark corridor. But, Lord knows how, she beat me to it and confronted me with what she had seen. As I had no intention of ending the affair back then I offered her some money in return for her discretion. That's when she hatched her new plan. She would pretend to retire early, but would stay up late and listen out for my return. She started threatening me to tell Anthony about the situation. He had become suspicious of her behaviour himself at the time so I couldn't risk losing my reputation. And I complied with her demands.”

So Mr Drake hadn't been that wrong about his impression of Rose Hamilton after all, Phryne thought to herself, Lady Marshall had intentionally pointed the finger at him in their first conversation.

“And what happened on Sunday night?”, she asked slowly.

“The announcement of my engagement was drawing nearer and I couldn't afford the slightest bad word about me. So I made a deal with Rose. I promised her to give in to one last blackmail, whatever the exorbitant demand, and that I would write her a glowing reference on the condition that she would resign and leave me be. I left the ball earlier allowing enough time to break up with Mr Thompson for good. Rose and I had arranged to meet in his room to avoid prying neighbours.”

“The £150.”, Phryne thought aloud.

“I thought they would be the end of it.”, Lady Marshall's voice was shaking now, “… but then … she asked me to give her £200 … I refused. Enough is enough, I told myself. Mr Thompson must have felt that we were reaching an impasse so he offered Rose his wristwatch, telling her it was quite valuable, to settle things down. She took the watch, but she still wouldn't budge …She threatened she would go and find Anthony at the ball and tell him that I hadn't left for my room. And then …”

Lady Marshall sighed heavily.

Phryne lowered her eyes, feeling uneasy.

Hugh looked up from his notebook and glanced at his boss.

“Then what?”, Jack raised an eyebrow.

“She turned to go. I wanted to stop her and grabbed her arm. She put up a fight, asked me to let go of her. I didn't watch where we were going. She managed to twist herself free from me … and when she did … well … next thing I knew she was lying on the bottom of the staircase to the ground floor. Mr Thompson checked on her, but she showed no sign of life.”

After Lady Marshall had ended her account of events the parlour fell silent.

Phryne's eyes searched Jack's.

He blinked and nodded vaguely at Lady Marshall's confession.

“And the safe robbery?”, he inquired further.

“When I realised what had happened I wanted to turn myself in, but Mr Thompson came up with a convincing idea how to make the situation look like an accident. I knew that our affair would become public if I'd report the incident to the police so I agreed to the cover-up. He wanted to stage a thwarted robbery and throw suspicion on the hotel staff. It seemed the only way how to get out of the situation at that moment. He took Rose's travelling bag and left for the hotel office. I hid in his room. When he returned with the valuables from the safe we arranged the objects onto the staircase and around Rose's body. In his haste to rob the safe he just grabbed everything he could fit into the bag. Some of the items were too striking to fake the scene so he put them into his room telling me he would find some way to get rid of them. The safe had been robbed, no one had noticed us. I knew this was the point of no return so I headed back to my room. I'm not proud of what we did.”

There was a pause.

“Was it Mr Thompson's idea to leave Miss Hamilton's hair clip in the hotel office?”, Phryne asked eventually.

Lady Marshall turned towards her.

“Yes. He was so cool … afterwards … that I just trusted him.”

“Constable.”, Jack gave Hugh a meaningful nod.

Hugh understood the gesture and pulled a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket.

“That won't be necessary.”

Lady Marshall stood up reassuringly and let Hugh take her away.

From her eyes Phryne could tell that Lady Marshall had been well aware this moment would come sooner or later.

They watched Hugh taking Lady Marshall to the police car through the parlour windows.

“I can't say I blame her for losing temper under these circumstances, although it doesn't justify her actions.”, Phryne said pensively, “I do hope they'll find her a competent lawyer. At least we know that she won't get married in a hurry.”

“Hm, that might be some consolation.”, Jack replied, cautious about giving a personal opinion on the crime.

She turned around.

“As to Riley Thompson. It seems to me that he's the real scoundrel in all this. However ingenious his plan to cover up the murder may have been, the fact that he apparently had no qualms about injuring Mr Winter, spiriting away valuables and not only lying to us, but also urging his aunt to lie for him as well doesn't exactly put him in the clear.”

“I agree. So what do you suggest? Mr Thompson doesn't strike me as someone who would go quietly if being charged with assault, robbery and as an accessory to murder.”

Jack leant against the piano behind him, knitting his brows.


	10. Keepsake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The case is not solved yet. Will they bring it to a swift conclusion?  
> Bonus: Find out what will make this case a very special one to Phryne 🥰

They had telephoned ahead to have Riley Thompson called down into the hotel lounge.

Phryne opened the cut-glass swing door to the glazed lounge adjoining the hotel restaurant, Jack behind her. Hugh had been given the task to guard the back door of the room.

Mr Thompson was sitting at the bar having a drink, apparently without a care in the world.

Jack signified the waiter, who was filling the wine glass holders above the bar, to leave by a brief head tilt. He understood the gesture and made his way into the kitchen.

Now it was just the three of them.

“Mr Riley Thompson, you're under arrest. You're charged with the assault on Mr Edward Winter, as an accessory to the murder of Rose Hamilton and theft of property worth thousands of pounds.”, Jack declared firmly.

No-one could have delivered these charges better than Jack, Phryne thought for a moment.

“What?”

Mr Thompson turned around in the bar stool and put down his drink. He looked at them in utter bewilderment

“Lady Marshall turned herself in just this morning and gave us a full confession.”

Phryne knew her lines when arresting someone by heart by now. She was stretching the truth to some degree, but she hoped it would trigger him in one way or the other.

“I have no idea what you're talking about.”, Mr Thompson shrugged indifferently.

“No?”, Jack raised his brows sternly, “We can assure you, Lady Marshall is more than willing to testify against you.”

Mr Thompson stood up and snorted disdainfully.

“Huh, and you'll take a cold-blooded murderer at her word?”, he asked, a scornful smirk on his face.

Phryne and Jack exchanged brief glances.

“So you admit that you were involved in the happenings last Sunday?”, Jack asked in a determined tone of voice.

“I don't admit anything.”

Phryne knew the cynical slow nod and pursed lips expression on Jack's face that followed Mr Thompson's reply too well.

The game was up.

She decided that it was her turn now.

“Lady Marshall told us it was you who talked her into the cover-up, … that she would have turned herself in after the incident if she hadn't been so dependent on your discretion to uphold her reputation.”

Provoking people had always been the best way of making them give themselves away.

“That stupid woman knew I didn't care for her, let alone her reputation. It's not my fault she employed that nosy parker.”

“And yet you helped her covering up the whole thing. Let's not be modest, Mr Thompson.”, Phryne replied cutesy.

Jack took a step towards him.

“After Rose Hamilton's murder you wanted to frame her for a robbery she never even committed. It was you who assaulted the receptionist to get the hotel's set of keys. Then you plundered the hotel safe and left Miss Hamilton's hair clip in the hotel office for the police to find it. You had hoped you could stage a thwarted safe robbery and tried to pin the murder on the hotel staff. You were almost right about that.”

“Steady on!”, Mr Thompson laughed, sounding rather nervous.

“Admittedly, a clever plan given the distressing circumstances that night.”, Phryne continued, one arm akimbo, “Unfortunately, you made some very serious mistakes. You burnt the list of the safe contents hoping that no-one would notice that you would need to spirit away the items from the safe that were lethal by nature if they were thrown down a staircase to stage an accidental killing. It was only a matter of time for us to realise that some items from the safe had gone missing. And a member of staff wouldn't have tampered with the crime scene. We thought the fact that some valuables had been removed from the scene would point to a complicity in a robbery, but it was the nature of the missing items that finally revealed the cover-up. The missing items were not the most valuable ones. What sort of an accomplice would make off with heavy items after a murder and leave pearls or sapphire necklaces behind? A smart one would have taken handy valuables with them to benefit from the situation after all. Luckily, a witness account eventually led us to Lady Marshall … and to you.”

Although Jack was an experienced police officer, and had arrested much more difficult customers in the past, Phryne's eloquence impressed him over and over again.

Mr Thompson looked as if he was about to contradict Phryne, but she cut him short.

“We know you lied to us on Monday evening as to where you had been when Rose Hamilton was killed. Your aunt caught me just this morning and spilled the beans. She told me you made her provide an alibi for you, said that you weren't in the lounge on Sunday night as you would have had us believe. You had hoped you could fool the old lady, but she knew better.”, she concluded coolly.

Jack pulled a pair of handcuffs out of his coat pocket and fixed Mr Thompson with a stare of such determination Phryne was glad that she wasn't at the receiving end of this look.

“You wish!”

Suddenly, Mr Thompson grabbed a mahogany bar stool next to him and pushed it towards them with all his might.

Phryne felt a sharp, stabbing pain at her shins. Jack tried to catch her from falling, but she was shoved aside by Mr Thompson as he headed for the door to the restaurant. He just managed to break his own fall by getting hold of the bar.

“Sir!”

Hugh burst into the lounge, alarmed at the crashing he had heard from outside.

“Collins!”, Jack called out loud.

But Hugh couldn't pass them before Mr Thompson had fled the room.

The waiter had left. The hotel restaurant wasn't yet opened for lunch. The chance that someone would stop Mr Thompson was very slim.

As they reached the glass door, Phryne just glimpsed a part of a black suit turning a corner.

“Over here, Jack!”

The three of them rushed down the dining hall.

When they turned into the corridor Mr Thompson had taken, they couldn't spot him anywhere. A perplexed looking maid was picking up a pile of sheets in disarray. By the look of it, she had been pushed aside by someone just seconds ago.

They followed the corridor.

“Everything alright, Miss?”

Phryne heard Hugh's polite voice behind her. But this wasn't the time for politenesses.

And all of a sudden, she recognised the corridor. It was the same way she had taken to get to the crime scene a few days ago. The shortest way leading from the hotel office out of the hotel. And Mr Thompson knew that route!

“This way, Jack! He's trying the rear exit where we found Rose!”

Jack didn't ask what made her think so, but decided to trust her instincts and followed her.

Then a troubling thought crossed Phryne's mind. The rear exit they were heading for was near the hotel car park. If Mr Thompson got to his car in time, he would escape them. She quickened her pace.

She heard a clicking noise, like a door snapping into place. They were catching up with him.

One turn to the right and the rear exit came into sight. She ran as fast as her high heels would let her. Out of the corner of her eye she could see that Jack was close behind her.

When Jack turned the corner he vaguely noticed a clanking sound behind him, but he didn't stop to check the source of it.

Phryne tore the door open.

And, indeed, Mr Thompson was heading for the car park.

The two of them broke into one last sprint.

When Phryne was close enough she snatched at his right arm. He lost his balance and tumbled over. She quickly held him down with one alarmingly high-heeled shoe – a considerably effective weapon that was disregarded way too often.

“Going for another trip, are we, Mr Thompson?”, Jack asked cynically.

The gravel scrunched beneath his feet as he jerked to a halt.

“Argh!”

Mr Thompson groaned with pain.

“That's more like it!”, Phryne smiled down at him, slightly out of breath.

Hugh came running a few seconds later.

“Sir! You dropped these!”

Now Jack realised that the sound he had heard earlier had been his handcuffs hitting the floor. Having caught up with them, Hugh passed him the pair of handcuffs.

“Thanks, Constable.”, he gave him a brief nod of appreciation, then he turned to Mr Thompson lying on the ground.

“Get up!”

* * * *

Phryne heard the well-known, soft knock at her door in the evening when she was just uncorking a bottle of fine champagne.

After she had returned home she had been rather surprised at the mysterious crate occupying most of the kitchen table, as it was far too large to fit into the pantry. When she had examined its contents, however, she had decided this was a minus she would have to make do with.

She wanted to answer the door herself, but Mr Butler, probably led by his psychic powers of being in the right place at the right time, was already walking down the hallway. So as not to give the impression she was eager to beat him at it, she started pouring champagne into the two glasses on the octagonal coffee table instead. She could hear Mr Butler showing Jack in, offering him to hang his coat on the hall stand.

A moment later the parlour door opened.

“The Inspector to see you, Miss.”, Mr Butler announced politely.

“Jack!”, she swung around, a cheerful smile on her face.

“Miss Fisher.”, he greeted her back.

Mr Butler – the angel incarnate – closed the door behind them.

“You're not expecting someone, are you?”, Jack asked wryly and nodded towards the two glasses filled with a golden liquid.

“At least, no-one else.”

“Ah.”

He tilted his head at her free-spoken comment.

“Feel free to help yourself to a drink.”, Phryne said cutesy, “I'll be with you in just a minute.”

Jack briefly sized her up when she turned around to switch on the gramophone in the corner.

She was wearing the black lace blouse he had already seen on her the day Concetta had told him that his heart was taken. Although he hadn't known what to make of this remark back then, the smile that had spread across Phryne's face when he had eventually stepped into her parlour, a bottle of fine Italian wine in his hands, had burnt into his mind.

The gramophone had started playing a jaunty tune by Cliff Edwards.

_I used to be so sentimental_

_I couldn't bear to be alone_

_Our meeting was just accidental_

_But since that day, dear, I just can't help but say, dear_

_I don't mind being all alone_

_When I'm all alone with you_

_You're the kind I've tried hard to find_

_You've made all my dreams come true_

_In a crowd, I feel mighty proud_

_But if you're not there, I'm lonesome_

_I don't mind being all alone_

_When I'm all alone with you …_

After a few seconds Jack remembered Phryne's invitation to help himself to a drink.

He glanced down at the coffee table and eyed the sparkling liquid appraisingly, then he looked up again.

“Champagne? I didn't realise this case deserves such an exquisite conclusion. Are we drinking to a special occasion?”

“Either that or a fitting tribute to some of my most valued helpers. You take your pick.”

Phryne shrugged her shoulders and beamed at him as she joined him.

“Hm.”, Jack took the green bottle up from the table to have a closer look at its label, “ _Laurent-Perrier_ … Even I know that name. Imported from overseas, isn't it?”

He raised an eyebrow. He had an inkling as to how the beverage in question had come into her possession.

“Very good!”, was Phryne's sole reply.

He cast a warning smirk at her and put the bottle down again.

She ran her fingers absent-mindedly through her dark, silky hair – a pointedly innocent gesture that gave her away immediately. Perhaps it really was best not to ask her where her _helpers_ got their information, Jack thought to himself.

“Speaking of which, you might like to hear that we managed to retrieve the missing valuables from the safe.”

“Did you?”, she asked curiously.

“It seems our dodgy profiteer Riley Thompson had deposited the items in one of his warehouses. We found them in a suspiciously nondescript crate. The authorities will have to check his _special_ cargo more thoroughly.”, Jack explained.

“I guess the hotel guests were overjoyed to hear the police knocking at their doors this time?”, Phryne replied jokingly.

“Most of them … except for Miss Thompson.”

“What about her?”

“Her nephew's involvement in the murder and his foray into customer fraud took a heavy toll on her … She asked me to give you this.”

Jack reached into an inside pocket of his suit smirking impishly.

Phryne could see something glistening in his hand. When he drew closer she recognised it as the diamond necklace that had been stolen from Miss Thompson.

“May I?”, he asked calmly.

But he didn't wait for her approval.

It was an odd sensation feeling his warm hands sliding tenderly round her neck while adjusting the cool necklace between her collarbones. Only when he had let go of the necklace, his hands lingering a while longer on her shoulders, she dared to look up to him. She found herself drowning in his soft glance.

“There, … a keepsake of another solved murder.”

Time stood still for a moment.

For some reason she couldn't avert her eyes from his and it made her heart beat faster.

The necklace fitted her outfit perfectly.

“What a shame our recently generous Miss Thompson doesn't give away cuff links as well.”

She bent down towards the coffee table and passed him a glass of champagne. Then she picked up her own glass.

“So, here's to death and diamonds!”

She was given a winning smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, Phryne and Jack managed to solve a tricky case. Of course, Phryne's eager friends were a great help too.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed my case fanfic, which took me almost an entire year to finish writing.  
> When I started writing I wanted to create a new murder case that feels like another episode. It definitely worked for me. If my story had a similar effect on you I'm more than happy.
> 
> PS: check the 'story highlights' of my Instagram account (julia_rowena) to see an illustration of the climax of this chapter.


End file.
